


nothing but a reputation

by shades



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/F, Humor, M/M, demisexual Washington, past yorkington, post season 12, so many god damned feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shades/pseuds/shades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long story short, nobody stays dead forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

On the far side of the landing bay, where the shouting devolved to echoes of “what the fuck,” and “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” and, popularly, “FUCK.  THIS,” the Reds watched with the mild interest of men long-denied cable tv and streaming pornography.  Grif had found popcorn.

“Man, screw this,” he sighed, passing the bucket mindlessly along to Simmons, “What the fuck is it with Freelancers anyway?   They’re the crickets of the galaxy.”

“I’m pretty sure you mean cockroaches,” Simmons said, tipping his head to the side as he watched.  The newcomers had re-holstered the weapons they had drawn the first time Epsilon flickered to life over Carolina’s shoulder.

“WhatI?  _Cockroaches_?  That is disgusting, Simmons.  What the shit is that supposed to be?  Bigger, dick swinging pubic crabs?”

“Jesus Christ, no!  They’re _cockroaches_.  Everyone knows what a cockroach is!  They’re impossible to get rid of.”

“I don’t know,” Donut said slowly, “That sounds like crabs to me.”

Sarge, who had been watching the tableau play out with the aide of the sniper rifle, surged to his feet. “Those damn dirty Blues!  They’ve got new recruits!  They’re closing ranks on us!”

“Nnnno,” Grif said.  “I’m pretty sure that we’re on the same side for - yeah, I’m pretty sure we’ve been on the same side for a few years now.  And their ‘new recruits’ just pistol whipped Caboose.  Not that it looks like he felt it, but still.”

“Yeah,” Simmons said, “Remember, Sarge?  You kinda teamed up with Wash for a while.  You uh, thought that you were stamping out a mutinous rebellion, but it turns out you were being played by a bunch of genocidal maniacs bent on escalating a long simmering civil war into an apocalyptic massacre?”

“Classic double-back twisterroo side job!” Sarge declared, voice thick with bitter rage, “They’ve obviously been working the long con!  Look at those treasonous mongrels-“

Lopez, who due either to Stockholm Syndrome or lingering loyalty subroutines had followed them up the scaffolding, muttered, “[No puedes estar hablando en serio](You%20cannot%20be%20serious.).”

“Treasonous?” Grif said idly, “I don’t know, Sarge, I thought they were our mortal enemies?  If they were treasonous enemies, wouldn’t that make them our allies?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Grif! That’s what they want you to think!  Those devious bastards, with their mind games and their complex moral quandaries...”

“[Este hombre es un esquizofrénico paranoico.](This%20guy%20is%20a%20paranoid%20schizophrenic.)”

“But Sarge!  We've allied  with each other to overcome a civil war-slash-genocidal plot by a megolomaniac! They're not our enemies anymore!”  Simmons leaned over the bannister, trying to get a better angle.  The shouting had started up again. “Also, I’m pretty sure we’ve used this plot device before!”

“[En serio , tiene que ser medicado.](Seriously,%20he%20needs%20to%20be%20medicated.)”

“I should have known better than to trust a Blue!  Simmons!  Gather your troops! We have an infiltration to plan!”

Grif threw his hands up.  “What infiltration!  We’re in the same base!  We’re on the same team!  We’re working against the same freelancer bullshit bad guy!  What the fuck do you think you’re going to infiltrate!”

“[Voy a pedirle al médico de miedo si ella le puede dar algo de su locura furiosa.](I'm%20going%20to%20go%20ask%20the%20scary%20doctor%20lady%20if%20she%20has%20medication%20for%20your%20raging%20insanity.)”

“That’s right, Lopez!  You should go make sure we have enough lubricant to fill a wading pool!”  Donut turned cheerily to the others, “Today’s hand-to-hand seminar is going to be Greco-Roman wrestling!”

“God dammit, Donut,” Grif muttered.  One of Tucker’s underlings - Polomo, Grif thought - peeled away from the group of onlookers after Tucker chucked what looked a lot like a wrench at his forehead.  “Hey!  You! Baby Blue.  Yeah!  You!  What the fuck is going on over there?”

Polomo jogged their way, “Man that sounds like a come on.  Baby blue?  Dude, I’m sorry, no homo, but I’m not a homo -“

“What.  The Fuck.  Is going on?” Grif bit out.

“Oh, that?  It looks like some of Captain Washington’s buddies from his Freelancer days aren’t dead!  They were like 'Hey, dude,' and he was all 'Fuck you guys what the fuck!'  and then Captain Carolina was all 'Calm down guys,' and then the undead freelancers were all 'Yo we heard you like badasses, so we brought you some badasses,' and then the ghost that lives in Carolina’s head was all-“ 

“Actually,” Simmons said, “It’s an AI manifesting as a hologram.  A ghost would be ridiculous.”

“- 'Yo, guys,' and then the undead guys got all pissed and drew their weapons and then somehow Caboose got shot in the foot!  Doesn't seem to have slowed him down, but still!   And then Captain Tucker gave me an important mission, he was all 'Son, you’re the only one I can trust with this,' and I grabbed his arm and was all 'Anything sir, you know I’d follow you into the maw of death itself”'-.”

“Son, he threw a wrench at your forehead.”

“Aw, you know, it’s our thing,” Polomo said airily, “No big deal if you guys don’t have bonding things like that.”

“If throwing shit at your subordinates counted as bonding activity, I’m pretty sure I’d be Sarge’s parasitic twin at this point,” Grif said dryly.  

“That. Is. ENOUGH.” Kimball’s voice rang out across the hanger, leaving tense, embarrassed silence in its wake.  “This is a military operation, Captains, not kindergarten circle time.  Keep your hands to yourselves.  I thought you’d come to appreciate that by now.”

There was a muted cascade of apologies.  The blues stood, and in the case of Caboose, limped, to attention.  

For the first time, the reds got a good look at the newcomers.  They made an odd pair, both heavily armed and stocky, but different in their bearing.  The shorter one lounged back on pile of crates, oozing nonchalance, a snotty little to his helmet.  The other stood slightly in front of him, hands clasped behind his back, managing to look contrite and deferential while packing enough firepower to take down half a squad.  

“Thank you,” Kimball said, raising a hand to rub absently at her temples.  “Now.  Commander Carolina.  You seem the least….obnoxious of your teammates today.  Care to introduce your friends?”

“I’m not going to believe it until I get a blood sample and a retinal scan,” Carolina said flatly, “But they-

“Aw, come on ‘Lina, you know my bodily fluids were always yours for the askin’.”

“-claim to be Agents New York and North Dakota of Project Freelancer.”  She sounded resigned.  

The taller man walked forward and offered his hand to Kimball.  “It’s an honor to meet you, General Kimball.”  He reached up to unclasp his helmet, revealing a broad, handsome face, blue eyes, white blonde hair.  

“I understand we may have a common enemy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see me flail around about gay space marines, you can find me at allthingsmustfall on tumblr.


	2. Chapter 2

Given the choice between the war room (which was littered with sensitive documents), the mess (which was littered with well meaning if impressionable recruits), and an interrogation room (which, Kimball was going to bet, was not going to go over with the twitchy ex-special ops guys in front of her), there wasn’t anywhere ideal for this conversation. Eventually, they moved to her office. For some reason, Tucker had invited himself along, and between him, Carolina, and the two newcomers, the room felt crowded. The amount of glowering and posturing made it positively claustrophobic, but that was her elite team for you. It was like dealing with a drunk, five headed toddler that had been armed with a flame thrower.

“Seriously, what the-“ Tucker started, but Kimball cut him off with a hand motion. She collapsed back into her chair and popped her helmet off, cracking her neck loudly. Tucker, who was apparently unable to follow an order for more than three consecutive seconds, burst out, “You can’t-“

She glared up at him and he lapsed back into sullen silence. Kimball rummaged through a desk drawer and came up with a nicotine patch, which she opened and slapped on to her neck with the ease of long practice. Dr. Grey had been on her to quit, again.

“Alright,” she said wearily. “You may speak now. One at a time!” she shouted over the following outburst.

“We did mention we’re here to help, right?” the snarky one, York, said into the guilty silence that followed.

She cocked an eyebrow at them, “We’ve had issues with good Samaritans lately. You mind taking off your helmet, tan-and-grey?”

The pair shared a look, North’s careful stare reflected in York’s visor.

“We’re not going to shoot you,” Kimball sighed. “I’d honestly be shocked if anyone here could make the shot at point blank range.”

“Ahem.”

Kimball looked up. Carolina had quietly installed herself beside the desk, a wry tilt to her helmet. “Not you. You could probably kill them with my stapler.”

Carolina gave the stapler a speculative look and shrugged. She reached up and unsealed her helmet, red hair tumbling loose. It was getting long, Kimball thought. It just about covered the mark above her collar.

“It’s good to see you, Carolina,” the taller, purple one said, sounding genuine about it. He tipped his head at York and, after a long pause, shrugged. After a moment, York reached up and dragged his helmet off.

Handsome, not that that was her thing. North had the kind of broad, simple good looks of blue collar boys the galaxy over, and York was making the scar work for him. He had laugh lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth and when he caught her studying him, he gave her a wink.

She snorted.

“It’s them,” Carolina said, sounding tense. Guarded. “Or it looks like them.”

“Really? We’re doing this?” York rolled his eyes. “Where the hell is Wash?”

“It’s us, Lina,” North put in.

“I’m sorry, are we saying that’s a good thing?” Tucker snapped, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure every god damn Freelancer we’ve met has tried to kill us at some point.”

“At a certain point, you gotta wonder - maybe it’s you,” York drawled. Tucker let out an inarticulate snarl and took a step toward them, York turned and squared his shoulders.

“Zip it up, boys,” Carolina barked. She turned to Kimball. “Of course, we have no way of knowing who they're working for -“

North sighed and dragged one hand back through his hair. “Lina, we were on the right side of this fight half a decade before you were,” he said, but not unkindly.

She turned to face them. “Low,” she bit out.

Undeterred, North went on, “And I was sorry to hear about your dad."

“No.  You weren’t.”

“I was. The Director is a different story. But I’m sorry for your loss.”

“This conversation isn’t happening,” she said, her voice chilly.

“God, this is a disaster,” York muttered. “Where the fuck is Wash? He was in the fucking hanger ten minutes ago, I saw him,”

“What the fuck do you care?” Tucker snapped. “What the hell do you think he’s gonna do? Give you a fucking fruit basket and a tour?”

“I’m kinda hoping he’s less of a paranoid psycho than the rest of you!”

Tucker snorted. “Wow, it really has been a long time since you’ve seen him. Are we really buying this shit? These guys are KIA years ago and all of a sudden they turn up out of no where? Seriously? We should fucking stake them through the heart and bury them at the fucking cross roads.”

“Who the fuck are these sim troopers?” York said, starting to sound shrill.

“Fuck you man, I’m a captain.”

“Wow,” York said acidly, “You guys really must be whittled down out here.”

“York….” North said warningly.

“Agent Washington is leading a SWAT team through the ship you arrived in,” Kimball said loudly. “We can assume you're lying to us. We're simply trying to figure out just how much.”

“Oh!” came a very excited voice from the back of the group, “I bet they are very good at killing flies!”

“Caboose!” Tucker yelled, “How the fuck did you get in here?”

“Oh, that. Yeah. There was a door,” he said in a low, stage whisper.

“There were two armed guards.”

“Yeaaah,” Caboose said, avoiding eye contact, “They hurt themselves. No one is blaming anyone else.”

Kimball groaned. “I thought having the dog uploaded to his gun was supposed to cut down on his team kills.”

A grating, mechanical voice issued from the gun Caboose had cradled to his chest. “CAPTAIN CABOOSE ACTED IN ACCORDANCE WITH ESTABLISHED PARAMETERS FOR INSUBORDINATION.”

“You know,” York said tightly, “I think we started venting oxygen when we entered the atmosphere. This is probably a hallucination brought on by asphyxiation.”

Carolina snorted. “You should be so lucky.”

North was openly staring.  "Didn't York just...shoot him?"

"If it wasn't silver fucking bullets, there's no way he's going down," Tucker muttered mutinously.  "He's fine.  He's still got like, two toes left on that foot."  
  
"The one that went to market and the one that stayed home!" Caboose said promptly. 

A PDA chirped on Kimball’s desk and she picked it up, scrolling through an initial report from the SWAT team.

“Well this is interesting,” she said slowly. She looked up at them, subtly putting a hand on a drawer containing her back up glock. “Seems like you input our heading into your nav system three weeks ago.”

She leaned forward, elbows resting on her blotter. “Now, thing is, we’ve had kind of a crazy year. Pretty much been on a broadband lockdown for long time, nothing in, nothing out, every signal, every SOS, anything that would let the rest of the world know we’re here, it was all jammed. And jammers only came down two weeks ago.

“So. You want to tell us why you were heading here a week before the rest of the universe knew we were alive?”

At that moment, the door the office banged open, causing all Freelancers present to twitch towards their guns.

Agent Washington appeared in the doorway, panting like he’d been running.

“I know how they did it,” he said, still getting his breath back. He glanced at Tucker. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Hey, guys!” It was a chirpy, happy voice. A man in bright purple armor stepped into the room. “Well aren’t you guys a sight for sore eyes.”

Tucker groaned. “Oh Jesus fuck, it’s Doc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see me flail around about gay space marines, you can find me at allthingsmustfall on tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

“For the last time, we were not holding him _hostage_ ,” York snapped. Tucker scowled and crossed his arms. So much for all that fancy pants Freelancer training. Ten minutes in the same room as Caboose and York’s eye was already starting to twitch. “If we wanted to take a hostage, we’d take something useful, like a bag of dead batteries. Or a brick.”

“We found him in an auxiliary storage bay on our ship,” North said peaceably. “We think he’d been there for a while. It wasn’t a room we were used often, just…go-bags and emergency backups. He ate all our emergency MREs.”

“Man, you haven’t lived until you’ve had slightly expired dried creamed corn!” Doc said happily. “Really bound me up for a while. Can someone get me a glass of water? I feel kinda woozy!”

“He actually did a pretty nice job on the place,” York admitted grudgingly. “He rearranged the furniture. Well, furniture. It was mostly boxes and crates. Really made use of the natural lightning, though.”

Doc gave a humble tilt of his helmet. “I’m a student of feng shui.”

“Someone get him a seat,” Kimball said, wearily. Tucker kicked a chair into the back of Doc’s legs, sending him sprawling down into it.

“So he wasn’t yours? You were just holding it for someone?” Tucker said, arching his eyebrows at them. “Yeah, right, assholes, I tried that on my parents with weed in the tenth grade and it wasn’t true then, either.”

York turned to stare at Kimball “Really. These are your captains? Or is this one of those insane asylums where you let the patients play out their delusions?”

Kimball had retrieved a bottle of brown liquor from her bottom drawer and was pouring a heavy measure into a battered coffee cup that said “#1 Principal!!” in Comic Sans. Caboose had brought it and an apple for her on the first day of basic training for the new recruits, and Tucker still had no idea where he’d found it.

“They’re shockingly hard to kill,” she said simply, not looking up from her pour. “And they grow on you. Please, don’t let me interrupt your story.”

North jumped in quickly, sending York a quieting look. “Near as we can tell, he was within the containment radius of a transport cube when it went off. Some of the technology we were storing in that supply bay was designed to intercept what the cubes put into subspace. They’re not designed for living subjects, so we think that all that organic matter probably overwhelmed devices, and his...energy for lack of a better word got caught in subspace until it was picked up by our receivers.” North placed a hand on Doc’s shoulder, sighing. “Honestly, he’s lucky he escaped unscathed. It’s…wildly irresponsible to let any living subjects within the blast radius of those cubes. That he’s here in once piece - ”

“ - and not inside out - “ York muttered.

“Is amazing. Isn’t that right, Frank?”

“Enif leef I, wonk t’nod I!” Doc lifted a the glass Carolina had fetched for him and tried to drink from the far side of the rim.

“This again,” York muttered, watching the water spill down the front of Doc’s armor. “Hey Wash,” he called out, carefully casual, “You got any curly straws on you?”

There was a pointed silence. After a moment, the assembled group turned slowly towards the door.

The space Wash had so recently occupied stood empty.

“Uhm, yes. I think Agent Vacuum Cleaner does not like you,” Caboose said. “He went away from here.” He paused before growing suddenly excited. “Maybe he is playing hide and seek! Sometimes we play that game! He tells me to close my eyes and count until I find him! I will count now! One, two, three…”

North gently tapped the nearer side of the glass in quiet reminder and Doc gave him a grateful look. “Look, I’m sure Wash’s team has already gone through our ship. You’re welcome to go through our logs. We’re here to help. Frank gave us some intel on the situation here and…well.”

“We’ve heard the names Felix and Locus before,” York said flatly.

Tucker snorted. “You wanna be any more cryptic, you’re gonna wanna store some bones in that statement.” Hah. Bones. “Bow chicka - uh. Wait. No. Nevermind.”

“We’ve been cleaning up after Project Freelancer for a long time,” North said, apparently adopting the belief that if he ignored it, it wasn’t happening. “This is just another item on the list.”

“Ten, onety-one, onety-two….”

Ok, Tucker thought. That was complete bullshit. “Yeah, thanks for all your help before, when your buddies were treating us like a game of god damned Wack-a-Mole. Your great fucking achievement of not being in the same galaxy was a real comfort.”

“Nuevo, gordita, Lopez…”

York took a half step towards him. “Seriously, how many special ops guys does it take to protect you people from yourselves? The sim troopers were assigned as combat training scenarios, not a babysitting certification course.”

“Fuck you, man, it’s been weeks since Caboose had an accident.”

“…X, XI, XII…”

“I like to think my medical training came in pretty handy a few times,” Doc pointed out.

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks for that, Doc, you showed up a month too late to tell us the corpses we buried we actually robots and the two fucking Caspers we had floating around were actually AIs. Thanks a lot for that.”

“….100110011….”

“Wait a minute, you guys thought the AIs were ghosts?” York managed, barely holding back laughter. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Everyone, shut. Up.” Kimball slammed back the balance of the shot and coughed. “Tucker, no one is trying to kill you. Agent York, give it time. Their insanity is contagious. Judge not lest ye be judged.”

Carolina, who had been doing the strong, silent thing (and who by this point had advanced degrees in “It’s not happening if I say it’s not,”), cleared her throat. She gave the bottle of booze a longing looking before continuing. “Speaking of the AIs. I have an idea about how we can get some unimpeachable information about your motives.”

“….see spot! See spot run! Run spot run!”

“Um. Is anyone else worried about, uh Caboose?” North, who had been staring at Caboose with something approaching morbid fascination for the last few minutes, looked beseechingly at Tucker.

“No,” the entire room said in unison, including, and with surprising vehemence, Doc.

He nodded, raising one hand to rub his temple. “Right. Okay. What have you got in mind, Carolina?”

A familiar blur of light materialized by Carolina’s ear.

Epsilon waved his holographic gun at them in lazy salute, flickering into Theta and Delta’s manifestations for an instant before settling into the familiar, pale blue hologram on her right shoulder.

“‘Sup, assholes. Miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see me flail around about gay space marines, you can find me at allthingsmustfall on tumblr.


	4. Chapter 4

“Dude, seriously? I just got this place the way I liked it. You had to go and perv it up again? I feel like I need a bath.” Epsilon flickered to life over Tucker’s shoulder and rubbed his hands up and down his arms. “Where do you even find that shit?”

Tucker dropped the dumbbell onto the matt and panted, staring up at the gym’s sepia stained ceiling. One of the water stains was getting bigger - another thing to throw on Kimball’s desk or wait until the entire weight room was ankle deep in grimy water. Awesome. Best army ever.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” he said, pulling up the hem of his teeshirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “That shit is classic.”

“Ugh, god, no. It’s like having a roommate that takes a gigantic steaming dump in my bedroom every time I leave for the weekend. Theta. No. Do not go in there. Trust me. You’re not old enough. I’m not old enough.” Epsilon, currently the size of Tucker’s palm, paced up and down the bench press, frantically waving his hand in front of his face. “Your head is the equivalent of a creepy beaded-off back room of the local movie rental. Can you password protect that shit? Maybe move it to an external? We got kids here, man.”

“Pft, whatever man, he’s gotta learn somehow.”

“Learn what?” Theta piped up, zooming around the abandoned gym, before settling down to balance on the long bar press with both hands extended out to his sides.

“In fact, sexual intercourse is far from relevant for digital life forms,” Delta supplied, popping to life beside Tucker’s elbow when he reached up to grab the long bar. Ignoring the aching protests in his shoulders, he settled into a punishing set, teeth gritted, breath coming in tight, measured gasps. “Captain Tucker, your technique is only operating at 87.2 per cent efficiency, if you correct your form you could gain as much as an additional 3.6 per cent increase in valuable range of motion.”

“Thanks, Delta, awesome, you’re a real cheerleader, you know that?”

“Come on guys, beat it, I’ll see you at the water cooler later.” Epsilon hopped up onto Tucker’s chest, waving his hands at them. “It’s been a while since Lina lent us out, we need some, uh, bro time. You get it.”

Theta scuffed his foot sullenly. “I still don’t know what I’m supposed to learn.”

“I will attempt to explain,” Delta said, fading into nothing along side Theta, one arm thrown awkwardly over Theta’s shoulder. “When two sexually reproducing life forms achieve a mutually beneficial socio-chemical bond…”

“That dude is a boner killer,” Tucker said when they were gone, letting the bar slam back down in to the rests.

“Right? I mean. Not like I got uh, the hardware or anything more, but try and share headspace with the guy. It’s brutal.”

An amazing thought flashed across Tucker’s mind and he lifted his head up enough to look down at Epsilon, who was currently sitting cross legged on his sternum.

“Uh. So. Dude. Does Carolina have any…uh…personal….mechanized…uh?”

“Tucker, you’re gonna have to give me way more than that. I don’t speak pervert. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Dude, does she let you run her dildos?” he said, all in a rush.

“Oh, holy shit, no. Dude, no, I cannot have this conversation. This is why she fucking pulled me in the first place. She and Kimball are having another “briefing,” he said sourly, savagely making air quotes with holographic fingers.

“Nice,” Tucker said, a touch dreamily.

“Ugh, tone it down man, you’re wearing gym shorts. Also, I can see what you’re thinking. Pretty sure actual lesbians don’t scissor.”

“Whatever, a man can dream. And rack up a few gigs of special videos, bow-chicka-wow-wow.” He sat up right, abs tensing as he rolled to his feet and walked over to the wall. Fucking Freelancers, he thought, stretching a hamstring, forehead and the flat of one forearm pressed against the cool concrete. If the Blood Gulch crew stood still any longer, they’d probably collect the whole damn set, like carrion birds coming to a carcass. Fucking special ops asshole, turning up to fuck up every bit of fucking peace and quiet they'd ever managed to -

“Oh, settle down,” Epsilon groaned, poking at the pissy scroll of thought meandering across the inside of Tucker’s brain. “You sound like you just got cut from the cheerleading squad. Also - peace and quiet?  You do remember this is a fucking war zone, right?"  When Tucker stonily ignored him, Church did a full body eye roll and threw his arms up in the air.  "You got your special lace panties all in a bunch over these dudes! I spent the better part of the afternoon fucking flossing their neural circuits, they seem legit. Cool off.”

“You don’t know jack shit about my special lace panties,” Tucker snapped, switching legs. “And since when were you the fucking president of the freelancer fan club? Aren’t these the same douchbags that tortured you into insanity?”

“I mean, yeah, sure they’re jackasses,“ Epsilon said, but in the same way he’d agree that water was wet. It wasn’t like they came in any other variety. "But I…I don’t know man. I didn’t get the all access pass to their heads, I think they’re too used to dealing with AI, like tuning them out or whatever -

"Really? They giving lessons?”

“But they checked out, what they let me see. And from what I remember about the Project days, I think I…liked them? Am I even saying that right? Yeah. I liked them.” He shrugged. “Dude, I don’t know. Delta and Theta liked them. In fact, I haven’t seen Theta this pumped since Christmas. Thanks for the rollercoaster sim, by the way.”

"No problem.” Junior, for all that his adolescence had last a few hot, dry weeks in the middle of the desert, had liked that kind of shit when he was Theta’s age. Then again, Theta was a split off the mind of some middle aged dick weed, so it wasn’t exactly straightforward.

“I wish I even understood half that shit that goes on in your head. My head. Whatever.” Tucker turned and slid down against the wall. “So did you find out? Wash seemed all fucked up about seeing them.”

“As someone that possibly triggered that guy’s psychotic break, trust me when I say Wash seems pretty fucked up about a lot of stuff.” Epsilon gave a lazy shrug. “I don’t know, man. They just showed me the stuff Lina wanted to plow into- “

“Bow-chicka-wow-wow-“

“-yeah, right, hilarious. Anyway, when York went down, Delta rerouted his suit’s cooling unit and kind of dropped the guy into suspended animation, then fucked up the charge Wash set so York could survive the blast. North had a bead on York’s location, so he was only a little behind Wash, got to swoop in, play paramedic, and bring York around.”

Tucker took a long swig out of a water bottle and passed the back of his hand over his lips. “Yeah? What about North? I thought his sister offed him?”

“Yeah well, apparently the Dakotas were way fucked up by that point. North bought a clue and figured that South was probably gonna dick him over, so he slapped a drone in his armor for that mission and controlled it remotely. Wash didn’t stick around long enough to figure out there wasn’t any fucking body parts being blasted around.”

Tucker snorted. “So he failed to blow up not one, but two dead bodies?”

“Yeah, we’ll put it on his fucking performance evaluation.” Epsilon kicked at Tucker’s sneaker. “Dude, buck the fuck up, what is with you? What are you acting all butt hurt about?”

Tucker glared down at him. “You were a lot less annoying when you weren’t fucking reading my thoughts.”

“Oh, I was always pretty annoying,” Epsilon preened. “You, on the other hand, were a lot less of a social deviant when I couldn’t read your thoughts, but you don’t see me bitching about it.” Epsilon paused. “Also, dude, I’m seeing a lot more dicks in there than expected.”

“It’s a three ring circus up here,” Tucker said defensively. “Dicks are just taking their moment at center stage.”

“Uh-huh. Right. Well. I’ll pretend I don’t know who those center stage dicks are attached to if you promise to stop thinking about how flexible Carolina is, because I have to share head space with that psycho, and she’ll probably shoot you if she finds out.”

“Worth it,” Tucker insisted, pointedly ignoring the first half of that statement.

“Anyway, whatever, I don’t know what Wash’s deal is with York and North.” He paced, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I still can’t remember jack shit, but they were…friends? I think? I don’t know, man. They were tight. Maybe.”

“How fucking complicated could it be? We’re dudes. It’s either “I don’t care,” or “you’re cool.” What the fuck else is there?”

Epsilon scratched his head. “I’m missing something man, I know it. But whatever, they’re freelancers, of course they’re gonna be all fucked up, paranoid, sociopaths.”

Tucker reached out and fist bumped Epsilon’s small, transparent fist. “Preach it, man. Alright, come on, fire up Delta, I wanna see what the fuck I’m doing wrong.”

It was better than thinking about the look on Wash’s face the first time he’d seen those two assholes out of armor, part relief, part shattered disappointment.

He grunted. "Delta, add more weight.“

———  
Before PFL, Carolina didn’t think much about the inside of her head. If asked, she’d probably volunteer that it contained grey stuff and red stuff, which if she had a say in it, would stay exactly where it was, kindly fuck off.

Of course, later they slid computers into the base of her skull and things got complicated. And while her experience with the twins couldn’t be called healthy, she and Epsilon had grown used to one another. Visualization helped, when he was tinkering away in some recess of her mind, or zipping through her armor’s circuitry. It made it feel more like shared space than possession.

Case in point, as she proceeded down a fluorescent lit corridor in the fortresses’ basement, she also slid through a tidy, mental map, absently running through a ceaseless, careful perimeter sweep. She and her father had lived in Manhattan for one blistering hot summer when she was eight, and this place in her head, barely teetering on the edge of existence, had the City’s grid system, ghosts and memories building up a skyline. Some days, she could almost smell the steam from subway grates.

The City was empty, now. No Theta working on tricks at the skate park, no Delta fussily flitting around the library. Epsilon could usually be found at a sports bar, watching Grif Ball with his feet on the bar.

She didn’t know how it worked, or how she’d come up with it. During the PFL days, Butch had happily gone on about the usefulness of Mind Palaces in categorizing lethal methods of hand to hand, but that hadn’t been her thing. Besides, this place had texture, a sense of reality that included watching Theta skin his knee after an impressive wipe out at the skate park. And it wasn’t entirely her own making, she was sure of that much. One morning, coming up out of an unusually restful night’s sleep, she’d found herself wandering through a shadow of Central Park, only to find Epsilon watching a young man and his daughter at a playground, the girl’s long, red braid flying out behind her as he pushed her on a swing.

Epsilon had drop kicked her up to full, waking consciousness when he noticed her. They hadn’t spoken of it since.

Now, with the city as empty as this mildewed basement, the quiet gnawed. But, like it or not, Epsilon was still a scan of her father’s mind and talked like a glorified frat boy, so privacy, however unnerving, was useful for some things. Pulling him was good as taking out a local advertisement that she was getting laid, and while that had good hopes of being true today, it also served as a convenient smoke screen.

She slid into the gymnasium - it was old school, reminded her of the sweat stained wood of half a dozen interchangeable school gyms on Earth. There was the heavy, repeated thud of flesh on a boxing bag, solid as hammer blows.

Wash still dropped his left shoulder when he went for a cross. A smirk pulled at her mouth. Some things don’t change so easily.

“You know,” she said, “you’re lucky Tucker goes for weights when he’s got his special lace panties in a twist. Otherwise your pity party might get crowded.”

Wash paused for a moment, wrapped hands flexing in front of his face, but he didn’t look away from the bag. He rolled his shoulders and went through a series of vicious crosses and upper cuts, finishing with a round house kick that made Carolina’s abs tighten in sympathy.

“What do you need, Carolina.” He turned to pick up a water bottle, staring fixedly at the far wall. Familiar grey and yellow armor had been tossed carelessly in the corner of the gym, Wash still wore his under armor, sweat making long Vs on his chest and down his back. It spoke of urgency, haste. He was covering well, but nervous energy hung around him in a fog. It made him seem younger.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’re sure you’re supposed to be running drills with the rookies right now,” she drawled. “I could have you peeling potatoes for dereliction of duty.”

He cracked his neck and started unraveled the tape on his fists. “Grif did the last food run. All we have is fried pork skin and red Mountain Dew.”

“Opening cans, then.” She sighed. “Is this how it’s gonna go?”

“Did you want me to give them a tour?” he asked sweetly, finally turning around. For a moment, she could see him ten years ago, the younger, rounder face superimposed on his scowl. He had blushed then, too.

“York asked after you,” she said after a few tense moments. “I think him and Tucker are about one bad dick joke away from a bare-knuckled brawl.”

Wash smiled, quick and sharp. “York might get more than he expects, in that case.”

She let out a slow breath. That was the last thing they needed, York was well trained, but Tucker had the advantage of a melee fighter, all elbows and blind luck. He wouldn’t win, probably, but it wouldn’t be a pretty fight to watch. And the way Tucker and Wash had been training - well, she’d seen them working through the Judo techniques the Freelancer’s hand-to-hand had been based on. If anyone was going through that much pain to get someone on their back, Tucker at least deserved a little oral out of the deal.

“I didn’t know they were alive,” she said, finally. She wasn’t stupid, she could read the accusation in Wash’s guarded stance. “You’re not that hard to read, Wash,” she said, when his eyebrows crept up. “Epsilon did a brief interface with them…he can give the run down later, if you -“

“I buried both of them a long time ago,” he said shortly.

“Well unbury them,” she snapped back. She took deep, steadying breath. These days, she was the kind of leader that grudgingly ate bad cake on recruits’ birthdays and smiled at people over lunch, even if she had to make a point of remembering to, sometimes. She’d tried the other ways, using her team like lenses to magnify her own skill, had felt the surprising stab of betrayal when they crumpled under her hands.

“I know what they were to you-“

“This isn’t a conversation I wanted to have ten years ago. It’s not a conversation we’re having now,” Wash bit out, but there was the blush, faint under years of sun and scars.

“You’ll have to deal with having them here eventually.”

He snorted. “Why? Who knows how long they’ll stay?”

Carolina had seen York’s stance in Kimball’s office, proud and angry as a wet cat, had watched North’s eyes dart again and again to Wash’s empty place by the door. They’d left everything behind to fight the right fight, years ago and light-years away. Some things don’t change so easily.

“You drop your shoulder when you go for a cross,” she said finally, and turned to the door.

———-

“And this is the bed place! You can use it for sleeping. Or for napping, which is the best kind of sleeping.” The guy in regulation blue turned to the sink and turned a faucet with care, “This is the sink! When you do this, water comes out! I do not think you should sleep in the sink, though. Internet cats sometimes sleep in sinks, but you are not an internet cat.” He paused. “Are you -“

“No, we’re…we’re people,” North said slowly. York watched him from the corner of his eye and had to bite his lip to get a hold of the hysterical laughter.

“Oh,” Caboose said, sounding disappointed. “Well. That’s okay. Oh! I have not showed you the toilet yet!”

“It’s all right,” North said, “We had one of those on our ship. I think we can figure it out.”

“Yeah, Tucker made me a slideshow about it. I can show it to you! We can make popcorn! You will have to make it.” He dropped his voice conspiratorially. “I am not allowed to touch things with buttons anymore.”

“But they gave you a gun with a highly advanced AI system installed,” York said, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He glanced at North. “How did we even win this war?”

Caboose fidgeted like a puppy with a full bladder. “Mister York, I can show you your room next.”

York pointedly dropped his kit on the double bed. “I’m good here, Captain.”

A featureless helmet should not be able to convey such depths of befuddlement. “Where will Mister West sleep?”

“Also here,” North said soothingly. “We’re good friends. We don’t mind sharing.”

“Oh! You mean like the Awful Doctor and Captain Flakey Butter Crust!”

“Sure,” York said, clapping Caboose on the shoulder, “Just like them! I guess.”

Caboose nodded happily and stared at them. There was a long, drawn out pause. “Was there anythin-“

“I am going to leave now! I have to take Freckles for a walk!”

“PERIMETER CHECKS MUST BE COMPLETED EVERY FOUR HOURS,” the gun rumbled, but there was an almost excited note in the computerized growl - something about the tone wagged. Either that, or insanity was catching.

They stared at the door for a long time after he left. North was the first to speak.

“Do you think he’s-“

“Man, I have no idea. I don’t even know where to start. This entire team is a cluster fuck. What the hell did the rookie get himself into?” York flopped down on the thin mattress with an appreciative groan.

“He looked good,” North offered, bending to start undoing the familiar clasps of his armor.

York, spread out on the bed, snorted. "He was in full body armor, didn’t even pop his visor. How can you tell?“

North sighed, piling his gear piece by piece into the crate at the end of the double bed. A lot of the last few years of his life could be summed up as "North sighed.”

"Well, he’s alive,” he said, wincing as he tugged off his bracers, there was still some lingering road rash from a heist that had gone wrong on a moon a few systems over. "Which, given the long term survival of post-project Freelancers…“ He shrugged. "Well, breathing looks good on him.”

York was quiet, idly watching North strip. Eventually he murmured, ”He’s pissed at us.“

North, down to his under armor, dropped to his knees by York’s feet and began tugging him out of his armor, fingers as sure and confident on the clips as they’d been on his own. "He’s surprised. Give him time.”

“His team is a shit show.”

“His team has always been a shit show,” North said, a small, wistful grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "These guys seem to respect him, at least.“

"That one captain is a pain in the ass.”

North ducked his head to hide a soft smile, pulling one of York’s boots free. "You mean the mouthy, protective one with a raunchy sense of humor? Yeah. I know his type. Real pain in the ass,“ he said in a dry tone of voice that would not register with York until a few days later. Rising, he started on the chest plate, batting York’s hands out of the way when he tried to help.

York just gave him a pissy look. North rolled his eyes. “What were you expecting? A hug?”

“I wouldn’t have said no to a "holy shit, you’re alive” blow job,“ he muttered, gruffly.

North barked out a laugh. When pulled free the last gauntlet and tossed it with the rest of York’s stuff, he slid across his hips and pressed a kiss to the palm of York’s hand. Then, moving slowly, he pressed both wrists to the bed above York’s head.

"Holy shit,” North said, deadpan, moving the wide, warm flat of the hand not pinning him to the zippers on York’s side. "You’re alive. Want a blow job?“

For the first time since they’d found a gibbering, slightly delirious medic in a disused storage bay, babbling about red team, blue team, about Agent Washington - York smiled a smile that was almost familiar.

-

"How do you even get that muscle?”

Carolina, who far from being able to speak in more than happy, sated groans, flopped her hand down onto Vanessa’s thick, black hair. It was growing out from Military Regulation Crop into Full Blown Afro, but, as Vanessa had put it, the base wasn’t exactly over run with people that new how to cut black girl hair. Anyway, it was nice, a solid anchor for her fingers - Carolina approved.

Vanessa drew her mouth slowly up the V of muscle between Carolina’s thigh and hip, fingers absently stroking inside her. Carolina gave a soft, mewling sound that was half “Uncle” and half “yes sir, may I have another.” Vanessa ignored her.

“I mean, seriously. I run drills. I work out. I can bench press 250 pounds without armor. But this,” she said appreciatively, drawing her tongue down the groove until she hit the neatly trimmed mound of hair above her pussy, where she tugged with studied gentleness with her teeth, “This is damned impressive.”

“I like your stomach,” Carolina said, which was about as relevant as she could muster. "It’s soft.“

"I’m going to let that slide because obviously I’ve fucked all the tact right out of you,” Vanessa said with a slow smile. She ducked her head and gave one long, lingering swipe up between the lips of Carolina’s pussy, spreading them a little with her pointer and middle fingers to nuzzle briefly at her clit. With a groan, she rolled onto her side. Carolina’s hand fell to one of her breasts, absently rolling one large, dark nipple between forefinger and thumb.

“Mmph,” Vanessa mumbled, catching the hand and pressing a kiss to Carolina’s knuckles before drawing them away. "That was a respectable amount of sex.“

Carolina replied with a happy, sated smile.

"You gonna pass out on me, Commander?”

“I have had very long day. And more orgasms than is strictly decent. I think that is a fair and cogent course of action.” After a moment she added, “Mark.”

“Sync,” Vanessa replied, laughing. "I thought you were going to debrief me on the Undead Freelancer Situation.“

"Is that what the recruits are calling it?”

“Yeah. The reds and blues have settled on "You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, not again with this shit,” but it’s a mouthful.“

Carolina tried to assemble the relevant facts in the warm, pink haze of her mind. ”They’re here, they’re still sleeping together, and it’s pissing Wash off.” She grunted. “This might ruin our pool on when Tucker and Wash get their shit together,” she added, almost opening an eye.

“Nah, I bet it just speeds things up.” Vanessa drew her fingers up the groves of Carolina’s belly - the thick bands of muscle twitched under her hand.

"You’re only saying that because you’ve got a case of bathtub gin riding on a week from Friday.”

Vanessa’s smile was a slash of brilliant white in the dim room. ”A girl can dream. When I’m drinking ice cold gin and tonics, I will remember you fondly.“

"I’ll fondle your memory,” Carolina said, turning to press her face into the soft skin above Vanessa’s collar bone. This was dangerous, she thought, smoothing her hands over Vanessa’s hips, the small, silvery slashes of stretch marks. This was the kind of thing that became a distraction and tore you apart without warning. She thought of her father, and then tried not to.

“Sweet talker,“ Vanessa murmured, drawing her fingers up the sweaty line of Carolina’s back. She pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Stand down, soldier.”

Eventually, Carolina slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see me flail around about gay space marines, you can find me at allthingsmustfall on tumblr.


	5. Chapter 5

The rebel base (and even thinking of it that way made the muddy river of York’s memory ripple as something large and half-glimpsed passed below the surface; a crowded bunk room during those first, halcyon weeks in the project, an ancient movie that Wash had gone on about, bad CGI, furry aliens, what was it called? North would remember) was built into an ancient, honeycombed natural cave system. Made sense, strategically, the depth would offer protection from shelling and heavy artillery, and maybe a back door escape route somewhere miles away. The base’s construction would have predated the war - the rebel forces could barely get enough matching uniforms for their recruits, let alone kit out a whole base with the kind of ruthlessly bland tile and grey walls that this place had in spades. It took a lot of time, money, and death by military subcommittee to churn out a layout like this. 

But that was the base itself, where Chorus’ military had once settled down like a fussy hen on a nest - beneath it, the quiet, towering caverns contained stockpiles of guns and supplies. Before the ceasefire, it had probably been used for team drills too, away from the prying eyes of enemy aircraft. Obstacle courses and blinds were still set up in some of the larger caverns, conveniently placed and promising legions of trainees that the universe wasn’t a total dick nugget and would provide sturdy cover when needed. 

York fought down the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Kimball had the Fuck Not With Me stare down, but there traces of naivety clung to her like sweat - as if because they were Right and because they Tried that Victory would eventually be Theirs. That Doyle had been downgraded from bitter military rival to neutered lap dog didn’t help matters, they were still up against the kind of soldiers that killed people for money, who tragically tended to be better trained than the ones that did it because they believed in something. Righteous Ideology doesn’t buy the same grade armor as cash.

North was enjoying himself, but what a surprise. A gaggle of recruits, so young they were still emerging from the zit-pocked clutches of puberty were following him around like a line of ducklings.

“Agent North, can you show me that move you did on Polomo this morning?” They had a chain going from one of the MRE caches to a flat bed truck - it seemed like there were more mouths to fill every day. North laughed and shoved a crate into the kid’s arms before turning to grab another. 

“Usually paralyzing an enemy’s vocal cords isn’t a priority in hand-to-hand,” North said, dryly.

“Who said anything about enemies? I just want to watch a movie without hearing him squeal like a girl.”

North grinned like they were joking, but York had been in front of Palomo in the lunch line the other day and almost garroted the kid after a 10 minute “have you killed people, how many people have you killed, how did you kill them, I’m totally gonna kill people one day, it’ll be all pew pew, aarrgh, I’m dead, you feel?” interview. Laryngeal paralysis sounds like an entirely justified use of force.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be working on becoming a functioning team?” North asked, gently chastising.

“But North…” The whine had the same harmonics as Theta’s plaintive grumble at 2am, when he’d wake them up to tell them about old Pixar movies he’d found on the net, and yell at them to put underwear on before he showed them clips about a lost fish. It was probably why North rolled his eye indulgently before passing over the next crate. 

“If you unload the truck, finish your Drills with Captain Simmons, and - ”

“Eat all their vegetables?” York said, finally strolling over. North perked up at the sight of him, but immediately frowned when he took in his armor. 

“Carrots keep your eyes sharp.” He tapped York’s helmet, “You know what General Kimball said. No helmets on off-duty personnel.”

“Ah, right. We’re personnel now. Think we’re going to have a singsong around a campfire later?”

“I’ll bring the marshmallows.” He turned to his duckings. "You guys got it from here, later maybe I can show you guys some moves.“

As they walked away, York rolled his eyes and parroted "Maybe I can show you guys some moves. Pervert.”

North took position on York’s blind side “You’re the one that used "nature’s coatrack” in the lockervroom as a come on. Twice.“

York snickered. That was a fond memory he dragged out and dusted off on sleepless nights - almost a decade ago, they’d been working on Wash for a few weeks, pinning him on the sparring mats longer than strictly necessary, seating him between the two of them on the narrow bunks to watch movies, keeping his gaze until he blushed and stammered. Be patient, North had counseled, half a dozen times, but fuck it, they all had an expiration date stamped on their forehead, and they’d spent weeks working up to it like Wash was a head cheerleader right before prom. So yeah, one night after drills York had sauntered out of the showers to find Wash alone and half naked in the locker room, and when York had felt the huge bulk of North slide up behind him, damp and smelling freshly of soap, Wash’s face so briefly split open with want and hope - well, he’d felt a little burst of inspiration that had completely bypassed anything so sophisticated as grey matter. So he dropped a washcloth over his filling hard on and flashed Wash’s scarlet face a grin.

"Seen my washcloth?’” North muttered, now, rolling his eyes. "It’s a miracle anyone ever slept with you.“

"It’s a god damned miracle he didn’t drop dead on the spot,” York said, still smiling. "Do you remember his face?“

"I do, it keeps me warm on cold nights.”

“I thought that’s what I was for.”

“Nah, I don’t think I dropped you out of suspended animation right,” North said, flicking a glance over him, a small smile tugging at his lips. This was something they could joke about now. "Your feet are like blocks of ice. You’re part yeti.“

"Explains the smell,” York said easily.

The walk had taken them to a standing pool of water, which was under-lit by a faint phosphorescent glow - the rippling shadows of water danced across the ceiling, occasionally catching the jagged edge of crystal far above. By some trick of the cave systems architecture, the sound of the troops was distant here, just a low rumble intercut with an occasional shout or peel of laughter. 

North tapped his helmet again and this time, York sighed and reached up to pop the seal. 

“Thought you were meeting with ‘Lina,” North said, settling back against a boulder. 

“I was. It got - ”

“Unfriendly?”

“Loud.”

“Ah. 

York threw up his hands and started to pace. ”It was that shit dick Captain.”

“Captain Colonel? Or Captain Grif? Or, I’m sorry, was it Captain Caboose, because he does get loud - but that has more to do with his lack of volume control than -“

"Fucking Tucker,” York bit out, and holy shit, yeah, he was angrier than he realized. 

“Hmmm.”

York rounded and leveled a finger at him. “Don’t use that talking-to-crazy voice with me.”

“What voice?” North said in the same plodding, overly concerned tone. “Do you hear a voice, York? What is it telling you -“

“Fuck it, now I hate you.”

North shrugged. “I like hate sex.”

“You’re a damn boy scout, you’ve never once had hate sex in your life,” York muttered. “Mildly annoyed sex, stop-leaving-your-towels-on-the-bathroom-floor sex, sure.”

“It’s a wonder where I get the inspiration,” North said blandly. York scowled, but the raw edge of anger was already blunted. This is what happens when you sleep with the same person for the better part of ten years - they know all your buttons. He sighed. A good temper tantrum had seemed like it would make him feel better. North tipped his head at him. “Now tell me. What did the big bad Captain Tucker do? Write on your locker?”

“He’s just a prick.” York deflated and sagged next to North on the boulder. “I don’t even know why Kimball lets him in meetings.”

“Well, he’s not an idiot-“

“Which is apparently all you need in your credentials to get a job as a god damned military strategist around here. I swear to god, I can’t get through a sentence with that guy around without him interrupting with some half cocked conspiracy theory.”

“Their unit has seen a lot of crazy stuff, from what I’ve heard.”

York gave him a look. “Says who? Don’t tell me your ducklings, I’m pretty sure Polomo would tell you that his dick glows in the dark if it would get you to look at it.”

“Don’t worry dear, he hasn’t tempted me away from you.” North shrugged. “I was talking to Simmons and Donut - which do you really thing that’s his name? He tried to help me oil my upper arm armor yesterday. He was wearing a purple speedo.”

“Where do you think he got it?” York said, fascinated despite himself.

“I didn’t see any more at the canteen, I would have picked you up a pair. Anyway, lets say half the stuff they said is true - I think they’d be more shocked if we weren’t subterranean, world domination seeking crab people.”

York let out a derisive snort. “They wanna compare trust issues, I hope they got a couple of hours.”

North bumped their shoulders together, watching the play of reflected, fluttering light across York’s features. “What’s really getting at you?”

“Like I said,” York muttered, “He’s a pain in the ass. And I spent most of last week with fucking Epsilon sorting through my brainpan like he was looking for my porn folder and - ”

York stuttered over the sudden tightness in his throat. The AI interface, a flicker of green light at the edge of vision, a monotone that was dearly familiar, like a limb he only got back for a few moments, the brief cessation of a pain he’d long grown used to. 

“Delta,” North said, understanding. He looked down at the ground. “I know. I could feel - Theta is in there somewhere, too.”

“And -“ York took a deep breath, knowing exactly how childish he sounded, how fucking teenaged, but went on because he’d been working on this pout all week and damn if North being reasonable was going to ruin it for him. “And him and Wash are - fucking.”

North’s eyebrows crept up. “I doubt it - you know how Wash is. Kid doesn’t even get interested in sex unless -“

“Unless they’ve been living in each other’s pockets for years, under constant high stress, saving each other’s asses all the time?” York laughed bitterly. “Sound familiar?”

North was quiet for a long moment. “Maybe they are. Maybe they aren’t. But it’s not our business, York.” He was being gentle, which stoked York’s anger even more. “It was a long time ago and -“

“He won’t even see us!” York burst out. And that was it, wasn’t it. Wash’s name was tossed around this compound like short hand for some elder god, all the recruits had been trained by him, the Reds and Blues talked about him like he was as inevitable as sunrise - Wash was here and present and integrated in a way he’d never been in the Project. Everyone that needed a part of Wash, got it, except for the men who - the guys who had once -

York shook his head and looked away. “I swear to god, I’ve seen more of the back of his head in the last week than I did when we were fucking.”

“He thought we were dead,” North said softly. “He’s working through -“

“We thought he was dead too,” York said, stubborn and petulant. “For fucksake, North, we scattered his ashes. Who the fuck do you think the Project actually put in that urn? Was it really just to throw us the fuck off?”

“I don’t know. But none of that is his fault-”

“Jesus, can you have a fucking emotion already?” York snapped, and spun around fast enough to see the hurt in North’s eyes. Great. Now he was an asshole in addition to everything else. “North…”

There was an increase in the general burble of noises from the cavern, a few shouts over the din. The armistice was still a stringy, un-solidified peace, you didn’t have to be here long to work that out. A brawl could rapidly turn into a gunfight. North and York wordlessly jumped to their feet and were back in the main cavern in seconds - where, thankfully, they were immediately able to relax. All the recruits not on official duty were scrambling to the cavern’s exit, jostling one another like frat boys. 

“Hey, hey, freelancers!” Polomo waved at them from one of the galleries. “Are you guys gonna help out Carolina and Washington?”

“Why? What’s going on?”

Polomo tipped his head at them, confused. “You haven’t heard? They’re gonna show us some Freelancer moves up in the gymnasium! C’mon, man, I got twenty bucks that says Commander Carolina makes Washington cry.”

“I’ll take that bet,” York muttered. North shoved his shoulder. 

“C’mon, you’re the one hot to see him. Lets go. Gymnasium probably even means they’re doing hand-to-hand, sans armor.”

York rolled his eyes, but yeah, why the hell not. It’d be good to see how far the kid had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see me flail around about gay space marines, you can find me at allthingsmustfall on tumblr.


	6. Chapter 6

“This was a mistake,” Wash muttered, watching the rank and file of recruits muscle (and in certain cases sinew, chub, and gangle) through the training room door. It was a wide, airy chamber, bleachers on either side, nothing like the sweat warped wood of the boxing gym he usually preferred. 

“You were the one that volunteered,” Carolina drawled. She was dressed in slim yoga pants and a sports bra and if her bearing was anything to go by, she’d gotten laid the night before. She looked like the cat that had not only gotten the cream but had taken a sizable chunk out of the cow as well.

“I don’t really think you know what ‘volunteered’ means,” Wash muttered, distracted. On the first row of the bleachers, the Reds were bickering with Caboose, who was apparently sitting too close to Sarge, clearly initiating the first phase of a treasonous plot. Faint shouts of “Damnation!” (Sarge) and “Sarge!” (Simmons) and “Loud talking!” (Caboose) could be heard even here. Wash had to resist the urge to shout “So help me god, I will turn this army around if you don’t stop fighting!”

“It’s a hand-to-hand seminar,” Lina said easily. She strolled out to the center of the mats. “I need to show them what we’ll be working towards if they keep up with their training.”

What Wash was probably working towards was a concussion and a compound fracture, but he kept that to himself. Yes, he’d ‘volunteered’ after losing what could be called a bet, but could more accurately be considered ‘coercion,” and “intoxication with intent to humiliate.” Lina still had a hollow leg, mysterious access to rot gut, and knew that 3-drinks Wash was oddly competitive and shit at darts. That had been two nights ago, when she’d shown up at his quarters with a liter of bathtub gin that tasted like bleach, wearing a determined expression.

‘Let me in, we’re bonding,” she’d said severely, verging on the edge of defensive.

‘We are?’ he’d said, voice going a little shrill. “That sounds awful.’

‘I know.’ She’d already shouldered past him into the small, bare room. “We’re going to drink and bitch about the recoil on the rebels’s AKs, the way the Fed’s rifles jam on rapid fires, and their awful troop maneuvers, and anyone that discusses feelings is getting thrown out.”

‘It’s my room.”

But that argument didn’t have any pull, and with Epsilon at a ‘babysitter’s’ (Tucker) for the night, they ended up drinking awful booze out of flimsy plastic cups from his bathroom, and laying on the floor until Lina had said, “Wanna make a bet?” and gestured at the battered dart board in one corner. 

Wash, who was only now hauling himself from the dregs of the 2-day hangover, sighed. For once out of armor, he was in gym shorts and the baggy sweat shirt he’d rescued from last and found, nursing Dr. Grey’s version of energy drink, which while ultra-hydrating and full of electrolytes, had the taste and consistency of hummingbird food. 

“Dude, she’s gonna kick your ass,” Tucker crowed behind him, having evidently slipped in the gym’s side door. Wash glanced over his shoulder - Tucker was lounging against the wall, all shit eating grins and nonchalance. Epsilon flickered to life over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, sorry, man,” the AI said, not sounding it at all, “This is going to be awful to watch. Wait. No. Awesome. I totally meant awesome.”

Wash gave them both a dark look. “Was that you volunteering, Captain Tucker?”

Tucker barked out a delighted laugh. “Fuck no, man! She’s a fucking monster, are you kidding me? At least she offloaded Church onto me. Otherwise, we’d be peeling you off the mats.”

Wash tried out a Drill Sargent scowl on Tucker, but it rolled off him like water off a duck. He’d almost certainly been coming off night guard duty when one of the recruits put the word out about the impromptu seminar. Wash knew this because he’d been in charge of the duty roster for the past few weeks, and had carefully made sure they were working opposite shifts. This idea had nearly come back to bite him two nights previous - he had dim memories of Lina persuading him not to comm Tucker at 2am, when Tucker was probably ¾ of his way through patrol and Wash was ¾ of the way through the bottle of gin. 

But, Tucker hadn’t so much as made a pit stop when he came off duty, that was obvious. He’d ditched the armor, but he was still wearing the black undersuit, which was darker where sweat had collected around his collar bones. Wash had been the one to run Tucker through endless drills, so he had only himself to blame for the way he filled out what basically amounted to a cat suit. He had the lean, sleek look of someone who had put on muscle to get a job done, rather than for the aesthetic. Even so, the undersuit was the same one he’d had since his Blood Gulch days, and it was getting tight through the shoulders. He should lay off the weights until his mile time was under 8 minutes, Wash thought, watching where Tucker’s shoulder muscles bunched when he crossed his arms.

York had fussed over his obliques, Wash remembered suddenly, whining and bitching in the gym mirror on the MOI and doing crunch set after crunch set while North and Wash cooled down and gave him shit. He’d earned them, though, sharp and warm under Wash’s fingers -

Wash jerked his head away, heat streaming from the tips of his ears down his neck and chest; he was pale from too much time underground and in armor and knew how much it showed up on his skin. He swallowed over the sudden, raw knot in his throat, tension and stress and too much sublimation twirled together in his chest to form a lesion that ached beneath his sternum. It was having - them here. He’d been fine for years, fine even since the first time he noted the contrast of Tucker’s skin against his own during training, fine while watching Tucker laugh over Junior’s latest photos, fine watching him grumpily pick bell peppers out of the mess’ shitty stir fry. Wash had been fine. Coping. For years he’d kept his head down, been studiously uninterested, and done something that, if not quite living, was definitely surviving.

Even good memories were unwelcome when you’d gotten used to not feeling much of anything at all.

Now, the silence had gone on too long, and Wash hauled his sweat shirt over his head to cover what he was trying to deny to himself was a blush.

“You want Church to take video?” Tucker said brightly, though the enthusiasm sounded forced. When Wash pulled his head out of sweatshirt, he caught the last half of an appreciative look that Tucker hadn’t even tried to conceal. Wash balled up his sweat shirt and threw it at his head. 

“I’ve got a feeling it’s not to immortalize my victory,” he said dryly.

Tucker flashed him a wolfish grin, bright and sharp against his skin. “You kidding me? With the black market trade the recruits have going for pics of your shirtless morning jog, I’d be set for weeks with this. Please?”

“No,” Wash said firmly, ignoring Epsilon’s pained noises about Just fuck already, Fucking Christ almighty. He’d seen a few of those pictures hidden under Jensen’s and, worryingly, Polomo’s bunk during a random inspection. No one had ever hoarded half naked pictures of the Director, at least not that he’d heard of. It had to mean he was doing something wrong. “And don’t encourage them. It’s weird. Polomo asked for my autograph last month.”

“That little dick weasel,” Tucker said, and there was a treacherous, hopeful part of Wash that reveled in the darkly jealous tone. He pushed it down harshly. 

“Wash,” Carolina called, giving him a good reason to spin around. She cracked her knuckles and then her neck, giving him the small, tucked up smile that he still associated with getting his ass beat. “Best two out of three pins?”

“I get you some ice,” Tucker said, slipping back to the bleachers.

“Fuck the ice, I’m gonna start chiseling his headstone,” Epsilon muttered. 

Wash sighed and polished off the last of the Grey-o-rade. “Well, at least this won’t take long.”

*

He really shouldn’t have gotten cocky after he won the first pin, Wash thought, upside down and propped up against the wall. And he probably shouldn’t have been able to see the back of his knees. He let out a small, reedy noise. 

“….help…” 

Donut’s cheery face appeared in front of him. “Why hi Agent Washington! Do you need help? Usually it takes three guys to get me into this position!”

Wash groaned. “…not…you…”

“And that’s why it’s good to let your opponent get a few hits in before you go for your attack,” Carolina was saying to the assembled crowd. “It lets you know their weaknesses and their preferred attacks, and it gives you time to organize your defenses.” She spun around. “Wash, come on, stop showing off.”

Slowly, he crumpled to the side, where he lay for a moment, considering the benefits of playing dead. Death meant that he’d have to go to the infirmary and Dr. Grey’s tender ministrations. With a groan he pushed himself to his hands and knees, waving away Donut’s very questionable attempts to help him.

“I think you made your point, Carolina,” he said, stretching out his arms as he walked back onto the mat. He offered out his hand. 

“Call it a draw?”

Lina was doing that small, private smirk that on anyone else would have been a grin. It was probably too much peacetime bonding that made her slap her hand into his without checking his footing, because as soon as she did, he braced himself, twisted, and flipped her over his back, sending her down hard enough to knock the breath out of her. Or would have, if she’d been stupid and he’d been quicker. As it was, she landed like a crab, braced on her palms and the flat of her feet, and she used the recoil to snap out a leg and catch him, hard, in the back of the knee. Still over balanced from the throw, Wash twisted as he went down, using the momentum to turn it into a roll. Prone on hands and knees, head pounding, he just managed to twirl around and snap his thighs around the kick from Lina that would have seriously inconvenienced his love life, if he’d had any. He grinned at her, watching her hop over him one leg still caught in the lock.

“That was a dirty trick, Wash,” Lina said, sounding impressed.

“No rules on the battlefield, Carolina,” He said, twisting away and getting to his feet before she had the chance to react. She spun at him and he just managed to dodge the roundhouse kick that followed, and like that they were off into a flurry of spars - it was good that they were both a little winded, but even so, he was barely keeping pace ,catching and throwing her punches without any chance to push the offensive. But, wait, her left hooks were weak and she was having to alternate left-right punches too quickly to brace properly, and, yeah, maybe he could push that advantage if he could just- find- an opening-

Before an opportunity presented itself, Wash’s peripheral vision picked up the fact that the door to the gym had opened. While he could normally have assimilated and dismissed this without breaking stride, there was a flash of familiar purple and gold armor and a surge of murmuring from the onlookers. His head snapped to the newcomers - he saw York, grinning, scar creased with crows feet, saw North, whose expression was rapidly becoming more concerned - and fell back a step, jarred enough to lose his footing.

Lina’s fist, which was completing its arc heedless of Wash’s break in the rhythm, sailed into his temple unimpeded. 

Wash folded up like a cheap, plastic chair.`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see me flail around about gay space marines, you can find me at allthingsmustfall on tumblr.


	7. Chapter 7

Wash drifted up from darkness by degrees.  A low, steady mechanical chirp came from somewhere off to his left and a too soft mattress was sucking him down into an uncomfortable embrace.  The air tasted clean, astringent, a familiar combination that triggered a _thump-da-dump_ spike of terror somewhere under his breastbone - medical, recovery unit?  Surgery - could he feel the echoes of nightmares and gibbering confusion? The savage sense of betrayal, all consuming and destructive, it was this again, he’d wake up chained to the bed, Epsilon a rabid shard of misery that he’d spend years trying to eject - cutting him to damp, red ribbons all over again -

A hand laid over his (free) wrist and squeezed.

“Wash.”  North’s voice, but wasn’t North dead?  He’d seen him dead, or was that another lie left behind by Epsilon’s ghost? He gasped, fighting the tangle of sleep and half-realized nightmares, dragging him down below the surface -

“C'mon buddy, feet on the ground,” North said, soothing.  "You’re alright.“

Wash pried his eyes open.  It was dim, lit only by a light on the bedside table. Yes, medical, but no, not post-op.  The terror ebbed as memories pooled around him.  This was an ordinary room, curtains drawn around the bed for privacy.North sat beside him with a trashy romance novel and half-moon reading glasses, the incongruousness of which made the corner of Wash’s lips twitch.

"You’re getting old,” Wash rasped out and North smiled.

“You’re getting slow.  'Lina clipped you pretty good around the ear.  You really pissed her off with that stunt, I think.”  He cracked his neck and gave Wash an appraising look.  "She knocked you out.  Grey wanted to make sure your head wasn’t scrambled.  Also she took your pulse, blood pressure, blood ox, ran a CAT scan, MRI, full body xray, biometrics, and did some things with a few machines that I actually think were intended for livestock.“  He slid a jello cup in front of Wash.  "She also took more blood than I’ve seen off a battlefield in a long time, so eat up.  all in all, you got a full physical while unconscious, which sounds like iffy consent, but I’m going to take the ‘it was in your  best interest’ route on this one.” He paused and broke out the Disappointed Dad Eyebrow, which Wash still associated with not packing enough ammo and going to bed with come in his hair.  "Sounds like someone hasn’t been making his appointments in medical.“

"Please god tell me she didn’t give me a prostate exam,” Wash said, horror mounting.

“Don’t think so, but I think we can get Tucker in here if you like.”

Wash scowled, but found it too exhausting to call up all the rage now.  He settled into being petulant and hurt - it had been a long time since he’d been that kid, but he hadn’t forgotten how it went.  Besides, they were joking about this now, and it was painful being angry at North, it hurt him as much as anyone else.  It wasn’t going to last, but for now it was a warm relief to sink into familiar rhythms, and he could let himself trust North, if only for a few minutes.  

“Ha ha,” he muttered, hating the blush that burnt a path up his neck.  He closed his eyes against the flush of embarrassment.  "I’d like to go back to being unconscious now.“

"Go for it,” North said, “We were going to bring you around before, but you started snoring.  Grey figured you could use the rest.  Besides, she wanted to tend to her other patients.”

Wash reluctantly opened his eyes.  North was grinning slightly.  But North was also here alone, and they’d both had stubborn shadows the past few weeks, which meant…

From down the hall, he could hear muffled shouting.

“You FUCKING COCKBITE.”

“Lay off, sim trooper, I got here first.”

“Motherfucker, the red jello was for me.”

Wash groaned into his hands.  A headache, blessedly forgotten, reasserted itself with vengeance somewhere behind his right eye. “What happened.”

“I think it’s about time you decided who gets to take you to the spring fling, Doris,” North said in perfectly deadpan voice.

—

“Motherfucker,” Tucker snarled, “You are a sick son of a bitch.”

“I’m sorry,” York said, retreating to his side of the medbay, “Was this your jello?  I didn’t think you wanted it.”

“I knew you god damned Freelancers were destructive sociopaths,” Tucker said, struggling to swing his legs out of bed, “But this goes to far.”

“Sorry,” York said, dancing backwards behind his own cot.  There was only so much joy Tucker could take in the fact that York’s good eye was swollen shut - the son of a bitch had done something to Tucker’s knee that had burned like fire and now left him hobbling like an old man, “Aren’t you the team that caused an explosion so big you thought you got thrown into the future?”

“Aren’t you the team that collapsed an entire fucking skyscraper?” Tucker said, cursing as he tried to swing his leg out of bed.

York froze with the spoon half-way to his mouth.  “Wash told you that?”

“Yeah, dick munch, he did, right before he braided my hair,” Tucker snapped, hissing in pain when he managed to sit up right.

“Ooooookay!”  Dr Grey said, swooping into the room with a bounce.  “Who wants a non-consensual sedative?”

“I don’t anyone can want a non-consensual -“ York started.

Tucker raised his hand, “Me!  I want him to get it.  Hypospray the motherfucker, Grey.”

“Aww, c’mon Captain Tucker!  You know it doesn’t work like that!  You boys don’t want me to call in Orderly Caboose do you?”

“He’s an Orderly?” York said, throwing his hands up in the air, jello clattering heedlessly to the ground.  

“Yeah, man,” Tucker said, sighing, “He brought a bear in for a physical last week.”

“It sure was grumpy!” Grey said happily.  “One speculum was too small, one was too big, another was juust-“

“Oh my god,” York said faintly, and Tucker had to give him that one.  No one had been happy to see that particular patient in stirrups.  

“Are we talking about Goldilocks again?” Wash called from the doorway, sounding tired.  “Because I really hate that story.”

Tucker turned so fast he yelped when the strain hit his kneecap.  Wash was leaning more heavily on Agent North than Tucker was alright with for a number of reasons.  “Wash, you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Wash said gruffly, pushing away from North.  “I slipped, I got checked out, end of story.”

“Nope!” Dr Grey chirped, “I believe you were 100% unconscious before you hit the mat!  Agent Carolina laid you out with a single hit, Agent Washington.”

“Yup, great, thanks for the recap, Grey,” Wash sighed, touching his temple as he sat on the end of Tucker’s bed.  “What the fuck happened to you two?”

Tucker shared a look with York, which, he thought, with a flush of pride, had to be hard on York’s behalf, given the narrow silt he was glaring through right now.

“I slipped,” they said in unison.

“Not exactly,” North said, crossing his arms over his chest with a wry smile.

**

“What the FUCK, Carolina?” Tucker shouted, darting into the center of the gym, the few nervous giggles from the crowd having died down into uneasy silence when Wash didn’t spring upright again.

“Hey, don’t look at me, he should have dodged that, easy,” She said, dropping to a crouch by Wash’s head.  “Give me Epsilon, he can run biometrics.”

“He can run them from my port,” Tucker said, falling to his knees beside Wash, hand brushing up his side.“You don’t have any of the integrated software,” Lina said, looking a little too amused considering Wash lying un-fucking-consious between them.

“She’s right, dude,” Epsilon said, gliding down to stand on Wash’s nose (not broken, Tucker thought absently, good, that’s good).  “It’s like I don’t have my doctor’s bag with me.  Just pass me over.”

“Someone call Dr Grey!” Simmons shrieked from somewhere beyond the onlookers, his voice cracking.  

“No, no one call Dr. Grey!” Tucker snapped, passing her the AI chip, “The last time I got knocked out I woke up without an appendix.”

“Oops,” Caboose said, dancing from foot-to-foot at the edge of the mats, “I might have already been…helpful.”

“Dammit Caboose!  What have I said about that!”

“That it happens to everyone once in a while,” Caboose said dutifully.

Lina arched an eyebrow at him, Epsilon flickering over her shoulder.

“Shut up,” Tucker said tightly, “And run the scans.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, chill, dude, he’s got, like, a minor concussion,” Epsilon said, kicking idly at Wash’s temple.  “He’s fine.”

“He’s loosing his touch,” York said, strutting onto the mats, North a sighing shadow behind him.  

Tucker glared over his shoulder.  “Back the fuck off, storm trooper, we got this covered.”

“I remember his first week in the training room,” York said, sounding wistful. 

“Spent more time on his back than on his feet.”  His smile turned sly and he turned absently to North, “Of course, that wasn’t entirely getting slapped around by Lina…”

And that was about the last thing that Tucker could take today.  It had been god damned months doing this weird, in-between bullshit with Wash, who flirted back one time in ten and blushed on a memorable four occasions when Tucker caught him checking him out.  Sure, Tucker hadn’t sucked a dick before, but he’d never let having absolutely no experience get in the way of getting shit done.  And they had been getting shit done, working on the jeeps together, Wash’s thigh pressed against his in the mess hall and during briefings.  The stupid, honking laugh he had when you really cracked him up.

They’d been getting somewhere, and then these brain dead cock bites had shown up, and suddenly Wash was the same shadow he was years ago, terse and quiet and alone as often as he could be.  

And then this mother fucker throws that in his face?  

“Shut your mouth,” Tucker snarled, leaping to his feet and throwing a punch before he’d thought anything else through.

What Epsilon would tell him later was that startling York on his blind side was a bad idea at best,  and the ache in Tucker’s knee could attest to that.  Now, Tucker had the slow motion vision brought on by stress and extreme stupidity, so he saw the widening of North’s eyes behind York as his fist connected, and the gratifying splatter of blood-tinged saliva fly from the corner of York’s mouth.

Time sped up enough for Tucker to hear York say, “Oh, you little prick,” and then time started moving very fast indeed.

**

“You…sparred?” Wash said, arching his eyebrows.

“Yes -“

“Yeah, obviously -“

“While I was unconscious?  And still on the mats?”

North rolled his eyes.  “I wouldn’t call it sparing.  Cat fight, maybe.  Sparring?  No.”

“I heard that Captain Tucker defended your honor, Captain Washington,” Grey said, cheerily.  “It was very romantic.”

North cleared his throat noisily and crossed to grab York by the arm.  “I think it’s time we checked out of medical, Dr Grey.  Thank you so much for all your very…enthusiastic ministrations.”

“Oh fine,” she said, waving a large and complicated looking medical instrument around carelessly.  “But don’t you worry!  I’ll get to pry inside your little craniums at some point while you’re here!”

“Very reassuring,” York said, studiously looking at the floor, his ears suspiciously pink.

“Honor?” Wash said weakly.  

“Night, Wash,” North said, clapping his hand on his shoulder as he passed.  “Get some rest.”

When they were gone, and Grey had fussed as much as she could and departed, Tucker dropped his head into his hands.

“Honor?” Wash said, but this time it sounded like he was grinning.

“York was - just, whatever, man, he was being fucking smug, and I decked him, big deal.”

“York?  Smug?  Really.  How out of character for him.”  Now it really did sound like Wash was grinning, so Tucker snuck a peak. Wash snickered, fingers still massaging his temple. “You would make the worse white knight.  Ever.  Of all time.

“He said you guys - implied you guys used to.  You know.”

“Play pinochle?”

“Fuck,” Tucker said, hotly, feeling foolish and inexplicably nervous.

Wash was exhausted, slightly concussed and shaking a little.  He wasn't too sure about that last bit, but being close to Tucker didn't seem to be making it any better.  Nevertheless, he let his legs sag open, his knee pressed against Tucker's thigh - the last fuck had flown the coop. So he shrugged and said,  “Oh.  Yeah.  We did.  It was a long time ago.”

Tucker was quiet for a long moment, mouth hanging half open.  Wash reached over and helpfully closed it with two fingers.  Tucker coughed awkwardly and looked away.  Eventually, he said, “And then he just takes up with that North guy after he ditched you after the Freelancers went psycho?" He looked at Wash steadily. "Fucked up, man.”

Wash laughed lightly, and Tucker found himself watching Wash’s hands where they curled over his kneecaps, scarred and freckled.

“Oh, no.  I was - sleeping with both of them,” Wash said lightly, feeling slightly delirious.

Tucker choked.  “Bow chicka wow w-what the fuck, man!?  Both of them?  Holy shit, man.  Talk about hidden depths.”

Wash slide off the cot and cracked his neck.  “Yeah.  Both of them.  Often at the same time.”  He grinned wryly.  “It was a long time ago.  I was a kid.  They were hot.  We got shot at a lot.”

“And they got each other out,” Tucker said, lowly, after a beat.  He was gonna let the rest of _that_ shit simmer for right now.  But  _this..._ “But left you-“

Wash waved a hand, his face going tense and drawn again.  “Can we just - not talk about that?  Ever?  I’m planning on not thinking about it.  It’s been working out pretty well for me.”

“Because that sounds healthy.”

“Healthy?  Hey, do you think that getting decked in the head by my jackass, special ops ex-boyfriend damaged your man-uterus?  I’d hate to think that your parasitic alien love child was going to be an only kid.”

“Point,” Tucker said, wincing as he stood.

“C’mon,” Wash said, “Lets get out of here.  I’m a little surprised Grey hasn’t dosed us with knockout gas to keep us in here yet.”

“Jeez, man, keep your voice down, you don’t want to give her ideas.”

They made their way out of the low-lit suite slowly, Wash’s arm slide low around Tucker’s side, taking his weight.


	8. Chapter 8

As it turns out, getting drunk on gin, losing a bet, getting knocked unconscious by your scary ex-/current boss, sleeping through a cat fight, and then casually discussing some of the more… _complicated_ aspects of your relatively spartan sexual history with your…colleague while concussed and enthusiastically medicated was actually not such a bad plan. 

“Yeah, I could have told you that,” Caboose said, and Wash shrieked a little as he spun around in his bathroom, shaving cream scraped off one side of his face, clutching his straight razor like a crucifix.

“CABOOSE.How the _fuck_ did you get in here?”

“Um, I asked the nice door-lady.Yeah.She let me in.Also, that is a _mir-ror_ , Mister Washington. It is not a person.You should not talk to mirrors.Sometimes they say not-nice things when you are ONLY TRYING TO BE FRIENDLY.”

“The door lady?” Wash said, turning back to examine his jaw, where the razor had bumped over his stubble.It looked, he had to admit, like beard burn - strange on his face after all these years.He sighed, dabbing at his face with toilet paper. “Oh, fuck, is FILISS running our systems now?That’s great.Excellent idea.She’s got a sterling reputation.No history of intermittent psychosis at all -“He trailed off and then rolled his eyes at his reflection, adding in an undertone, “Who am I kidding, she’d get a full scholarship to this army.”

“Sparta sounds like a nice lady, Agent Washingtub!”

“What?” Wash said, dabbing at the abrasion on his jaw.“What are you - you know what.Never mind, why are you here?”  
  
“Oh!Well, I went to the West Bronx-“

“North and York’s quarters,” Wash translated absently, navigating the tricky spot under his chin.

“Because they said they were going to take me on a WALK!”

“…jog…”

“But!They were going to church, so I came here instead!”

“…okay, you got me.” Wash patted his face dry.“What does that mean?”

“Welll, I tried to knock on their door, but they were like chaaanting, and talking about god, and I think they were doing a ceremonial drum circle because - “

“Oh,” Wash said, feeling the blush at the tip of his ears - 

“-there were like these loud, rhythmic noooises, and I think also they need to get their ears checked because they shouting each other’s names - like, all the time!”

“Okay,” Wash said brightly, “Lets go get breakfast, Caboose.I can already tell it’s going to be one of those days.”

“Tuesday!”

“It is Friday.You weren’t even - okay. Never mind, lets just - go.”

“It’s HUMP day!”

*

The mess hall had the feel of elementary school, long tables and a slogging line of soldiers half in power armor making their way past fake eggs, fake bacon, and coffee that had been in the urn since Chorus was founded. Tucker slopped another gelatinous serving of scrambled eggs onto his tray and sighed when he turned around.

The Reds were crowded around the end of a table, bickering back and forth.Simmons had a screen propped in front of him and was excitedly flipping through notes. 

“Okay, _Sarge_ , you enter the lower chamber, a thick and eldritch mist covers the floor.From beyond the veil of nebulous fog comes a throbbing green light.To your horror, you hear an inhumane screech and a monstrous silhouette fills a doorway.What do you do?”

Sarge thumped the table with a fist.“That’s preposterous!I would never be horrified by that!That’s just what it’s like walking into the bathroom after Grif has been in there.I’ve been preparing for this for years.”  


“Hey fuck you, Sarge, learn to knock a door, why don’t you.” Grif was disconsolately working his way through a bowl of musli, having been rationed to half a pound of bacon per meal.

“So I would do what I always do in that situation,” Sarge continued, “Which is pull out my shotgun and aim for the crotch!”

“Hey don’t laugh, Simmons,” Grif said, pointing a spoon at him.“That’s _your_ pubes he’s filling with buckshot.”

Simmons groaned. “Sarge!You _can’t_ use your shotgun.You’re a _mage_ , remember?You have to use your magic.” 

“Fine,” Sarge grumbled, “I cast the ‘Eat Hot Led Pellets, Dirtbag’ curse, rending Grif - I mean, the looming figure, critically injured! And I stand over his ugly orange armor - uh, monstrous form - “

“[La misma cosa](Same%20thing),” Lopez muttered.

“- in glorious triumph!”  
  
“Sarge!That isn’t a spell!You have fire, spirit, and earth.Chose one of those.”

Sarge glowered. “I ain’t no god damned hippie, son.And that’s one element away from a god forsaken jam band.I won’t stand for it!With their psychedelic tunes and multicultural influences.I won’t!” 

“Okay, you cast fire,” Simmons says, gliding right over him.“Now roll the dice.”

Grumbling to himself, Sarge did so. 

“Okay, a four.That means that you missed the shot -“

“Impossible!I’m an artist with my wand!Upon unsheathing it, I can issue forth a torrent of power upon any who kneel before me!”  
  
From his position in line behind Tucker, Donut perked up.“Hey guys!Wait for me!” 

“You missed your shot,” Simmons said firmly, “And the figure advances on you menacingly.”  
  
“Whereupon I produce my mighty boom-boom stick, splitting Griff’s ugly face in two!” Sarge concluded happily, slapping the table so hard that Simmon’s screen fell down and notes scattered everywhere.

“Sarge!”

“Hey, another meeting of the virginity club,” Tucker said, slapping his tray down on the table beside Lopez, “You kids having fun?”

“Hey, don’t mock,” Grif said, eying Tucker’s hash browns.“Simmons talked to Jenkins for ten minutes last night without squeaking.I call that progress.”

“[Él sólo finge que está hablando con su madre. Eso no es una mejora](He%20just%20pretends%20he%E2%80%99s%20talking%20to%20his%20mother.%C2%A0%20That%E2%80%99s%20not%20an%20improvement%20) ,” Lopez said, somehow contriving drink the oil in his coffee mug with his helmet on.And, for that matter, without lips.  


“It’s true love,” Tucker crooned.  

Simmons, who by this point had a blush that outshone his armor, clutched his scattered notes to his chest and squeaked, “You guys!Shut up! _She might hear you._ ” 

“Not as big a fluttery love fest as you’ve got going on with Big Blue,” Sarge said, raising bushy eyebrows at Tucker. 

“Yeah,” Grif said, “How’s your leg doing, asshole?”

“Good enough to shove straight up your ass, dick-munch,” Tucker said brightly.Grey had cheerfully told him that if he asked for pain killers one more time she was going to make him watch a ten hour Addictions and You video seminar.Now, the pain was a dull ache.

“So Sarge!” Donut bounced into the seat across from Tucker,“Tell me more about this _wand…_ ”

“[Por el amor de dios, alguien me desactivar](or%20the%20love%20of%20god,%20someone%20deactivate%20me),” Lopez said into his oil.“[Solo para unos pocos rato. Despiértame cuando estás muerto. Así, en como dos semanas.](Just%20for%20a%20few%20little%20while.%C2%A0%20Wake%20me%20up%20when%20you%E2%80%99re%20all%20dead.%C2%A0%20So,%20in%20like%20two%20weeks) ”

Tucker sighed, casually spearing one of Grif’s hands with a fork when he made a grab for some crumbling, charred meat masquerading as bacon, and was about to remind them all that, shambling corpses and fuckable ogres aside, they had _real_ monsters they were supposed to be chasing down, when a familiar glint of purple made him look up from his plate.

And… _well_.It had been awhile since Tucker had a fuck that loosened his shoulders and made him strut, but he still remembered what it looked like.North and York ambled into line with the fucked out stride that put him eerily in mind of Carolina when she came to pick up Church from one of her frequent ‘strategy sessions’ with Kimabll.Color was still high in North’s cheeks, standing out in blotchy patches and _York_ had a hickey that would make any high school student proud.

“Someone’s been hunting the two backed-beast,” Sarge muttered, following Tucker’s stare. 

“Gross,” Tucker said, reflexively.York, catching his eye, gave him a wink.Tucker flipped him off with both hands, a calculated gesture that left him open to more breakfast theft by Grif but was, on the whole, totally worth it.

Donut sighed like society lady.“At least someone here is enjoying the greatest gift of physical intimacy.”

“Shut up, Donut,” the entire table chorused, with one trailing “Cállate, Buñuelo” to liven up the mix. 

Tucker was ready to write both the assholes off, while trying not to simultaneously manufacture scenes of slick muscle and red lips for later enjoyment (they were douchbags, but York had muscles that he’d previously only seen on anatomical charts and North had a hand that could casually wrap around a man’s wrist with inches to spare, and he was only human) when Wash stumbled into the mess behind them.

And that was interesting too, because Wash, who had once almost forgotten to take his helmet off in the shower, was bareheaded.And he was blushing, it showed up like a beacon across the room.And…hair mussed up - was he limping a little?But he’d gone hand to hand with Caboose yesterday, and Caboose tended to mercilessly hug everything into submission and it had been a while before they’d gotten him to put Wash down right side up.

“Uh, Tucker?” Grif said, sounding very far away.

He wouldn’t, though, would he?After all this time, after they had _left him_ in that flying gulag, still bleeding from surgery, confused, alone -

“Son,” Sarge said, and then louder, “Son!Don’t think Missus Fussybritches is gonna appreciate you playing cat’s cradle with the silverware.”

Tucker blinked.Tucker looked down at his hand.The fork was bent at a ninety degree angle, one sad clump of potatoes still clinging to the prongs.He didn’t even have the power armor’s gauntlets on yet.

“Whatever,” he bit out, shoving the tray away.“I’m not even hungry.”

The last syllable wasn’t even out of his mouth before the remaining contents of his tray were moved with blinding speed to Grif’s plate, where Grif fell upon them like a vengeful god.

“What?” he said around a mouthful, “You said you weren’t hungry.”  
  
“He can hear that phrase from half a mile away,” Simmons said helpfully.“I once watched him sprint a quarter mile to catch half a donut before it hit the trash can.”

“And it was _delicious_ ,” Grif said. 

“Dr Grey wants to see you, by the way,” Wash said, approaching the table with a steaming mug of coffee clutched in one hand and a sad pile of burnt toast on a plate in the other. “Apparently, the last blood sample you gave was attracting ants.They thought it was maple syrup.What are you guys doing?”

He gestured at the sad collection of notes and dice, and Tucker forestalled a two hour explanation from Simmons by saying, shortly, “Nerd stuff.”He arched an eyebrow at Wash.“Sleep well?”

Wash gave him a look at the tone of his voice, bitchy and sullen, and said, slowly, “Yes, fine.You?”

“[Jesucristo, me gustaría que la mierda ya](Jesus%20Christ,%20I%20wish%20they%20would%20fuck%20already), ” Lopez said, “[Son los tarados más torpes en este planeta.](They%E2%80%99re%20the%20most%20awkward%20morons%20on%20this%20planet.%20)”

“You’re telling me, Lopez,” Donut said, chin propped up on his hand, watching the pair of them soulfully.“But I think that there are issues of trust, intimacy, and the complications of workplace relationship that confound them both.I’m sure things will run their course _eventually_.”

Lopez gave him a look.“[Podría, por favor intenta ser coherente con cuando me entiende](Could%20you%20please%20try%20to%20be%20consistent%20with%20when%20you%20understand%20me) ?”

Donut’s hand flew to what he would probably refer to as his breast and said, “Why, _Lopez_!How forward of you!You know I’m spoken for!”

“Have you guys seen Caboose?” Wash said, settling down, looking a little redder around the ears.“We were on our way here, but he said he had to talk to the vet about Freckles getting…uh, fixed, which, before you ask, no I didn’t ask for anymore information than that.”

“Not yet,” Simmons said, hurriedly packing up the remains of the game.“Jesus Christ, I’ve got to hide this, last time he wanted to play with a ‘die with one face.’”

“Which was…?” Wash asked.

“A marble.”Simmons sighed.

“Grey probably made him a bowl of cereal,” Tucker said, snagging a less burnt slice of toast off Wash’s plate without reprimand.Grif made a gagging noise.“She’s got some marshmallow sugary stuff stockpiled, and she usually pours him a bowl when he’s being more…Caboosey than usual.Was he acting weird this morning?”

To his amazement, the color staining Wash’s ears began to travel down his neck.“It’s possible he was….confused about some thing that he…overheard.”

“Oh, really,” Tucker said, leering.Fine, right, he could tease.He was good at that. _Bow-chicka-fuck-my-life,_ Tucker thought, staring at the size of the mark on Wash’s jaw.Suddenly, his stomach felt full of acid.

“Yes, _really_ ,” Wash said, looking up and glaring at him.“Just, leave it alone, Tucker.” 

“Doesn’t seem like everyone’s been leaving you alone,” Tucker said, jerking his chin at a table a few aisles over, where the Douche-lancers were eating with every sign of enjoyment. “Not sitting with your special friends this morning?”

Wash stared at him.“What the fuck has gotten -“

Thankfully, any more discussion was curtailed by the ringing of the mess hall bell.One more reason this felt more like the 10th grade than the army, Tucker thought, shoving away from the table.Other soldiers were standing up and clearing their plates, headed for whatever draconian training regimen that was laid out for them today.Anyway, high school _had_ been last time he’d felt this angry and this hopeful at the same time, almost queasy with something that felt too painful to be jealousy, so maybe it fit.

The Reds, muttering strains of “Blue Team Problems, amirite?” had already scurried away, Donut looking over his shoulder at them with obvious frustration.Whatever.He was probably pissed that his Lesbian Elf Succubi hadn’t gotten to complete her personal quest today, and Tucker hated himself for knowing that much about their stupid game club.When he looked across the table, Wash was still glaring at him, and had just started to draw breath to undoubtably chew him out when a chime came over the intercom.

General Kimball’s voice issued forth.“Agents Washington, North Dakota, York, and Captain Tucker, report to the strategy room immediately.”

“I’ve got a feeling this isn’t going to be for one of the fun strategy sessions she has with Carolina,” Tucker said, cutting off anything Wash wanted to say.He was _happy_ for him, okay?Why was Wash being difficult?

Wash stared at him a few ticks too long and then sighed, standing with the remains of his breakfast.“Not unless they reinforced the war room table.”

“Hey Wash!This place is a warren, you know where we’re headed?” York shouted across the mess. 

“Yeah,” Wash sighed, clicking on his helmet, “Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't speak spanish nor do I play D&D. All errors are mine and google translate.
> 
> I'm over at tumblr at allthingsmustfall


	9. Chapter 9

Carolina and Kimball were already poring over maps when Wash and the rest arrived.  They stood shoulder to shoulder, wearing identical, harassed frowns.  Kimball was comfortably inside Lina’s personal space, murmuring something as she pointed to the map. 

“It’s about time,” Carolina said, straightening.  “Sit down, we’ve got new intel.”  
  
“You do realize we can’t actually teleport on demand, right?” Tucker snapped.  Wash’s eyes flicked over to Tucker and away again in a heartbeat - Tucker must have been in an extraordinarily pissy mood if he was mouthing off to Carolina.  “The last dude that did that was Doc, and yesterday we spent twenty minutes teaching him the difference between Vick’s VapoRub and a toaster oven, and I’m still not sure he got it.”

“That explains the disgusting toast he made me,” York murmured.

North winced.  “And the burns I got when he tried to treat my chest cold.”

“Just go to Grey next time,” Wash sighed, pulling up a chair near the head of the table.  “She’s more....well, I was going to say sane, but let’s just go with competent.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Wash can make sure you guys get everywhere you need,” Tucker said acidly, throwing himself down into a chair on the far end of the table.  Wash stared at him, but Tucker avoided his gaze, throwing his feet up onto the table.  “What’s the big fuckin rush?”

The contrast between Tucker and the ex-Freelancers was suddenly and excruciatingly sharp - Tucker’s boots were unapologetically kicked up on the table, shedding caked-in dirt onto the maps. North and York stood unconsciously at parade rest, watching Carolina with hawkish attention.  Where North and York were clean-shaven and crew-cut, Tucker was busily fussing with the tie-dyed bandana he used to hold back his dreads.  It didn’t even seem possible that all three were soldiers. Wash wondered where that left him, sagging back in his chair, watching Carolina with mild interest.  He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d saluted anyone.  Maybe the torpor of the Reds and Blues was catching.  

Carolina looked like she was thinking about boxing Tucker’s ears, but Kimball touched the back of her shoulder lightly, hardly taking her eyes off the maps.  After a moment, Carolina huffed out a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose.  

Interesting.  

“As you know, we have recovered some data pads in our last raid of an abandoned Charon site,” Carolina said, “Nothing of any apparent value, aside from a few jump drives that were, well, booby trapped is a light way to put it.”  
  
Epsilon flickered to life on the conference table and barked out a laugh.  “Yeah, you motherfuckers should be _worshipping_ me. Felix, that little asshole, had a whole bunch of fun little traps in those drives. My favorite was the one that activated the biowarfare safeguards that liquidated the base by shutting down all access to air.  So, you know, you’re welcome for the fact that you’re not a whole bunch of decomposing corpses.  You know, I didn’t think it was possible, but that might have been the only thing that made interacting with you fuck nuts worse.”

“We’re all very impressed,” Carolina said dryly.  “In any event, after Epsilon slogged through all of that -”“

“It was actually Delta that did it,” a small, tinny voice piped up.  Theta appeared on the rim of Kimball’s coffee mug, aimlessly swinging his legs.

“Tsk, come on, Tee- we’re one big happy hive mind,” Epsilon said, waving his arms. “You don’t have to throw me under the bus like that.”

“I’m just saying,” Theta said, “You spent the past week working on your Fantasy Griffball Team.  Hi, North.”

If Wash was surprised by the sudden shift, it was nothing on North’s reaction.  His broad features were carefully neutral, but there was a small tick in his jaw that belied the calm.  His eyes looked suspiciously wet.  

“Heya, Tee,” he said, sounding hoarse.  “How are you doing, kiddo?”

 “I’m good!  I missed you.  Do you wanna see my virtual rollercoaster park?  I’ve worked really hard on it, but Dee won’t go on any of the rides with me.”

“At least two of the tracks you’ve designed would break the cervical vertebra in an adult’s neck, causing instant death,” Delta said, flickering to life by Tucker’s foot.  “Captain Tucker, you are shedding dirt onto the maps.  Please remove your legs from the table.  These topographical studies were not easy to generate.”

“You see what I mean?” Theta whined, crossing his arms.  “We don’t even have vertebrae!”   

“Still a killjoy, huh, Dee?” York said.  To Wash’s amazement, Tucker dropped his feet off the table.  “Good to know some things never change.”

“And it appears from your logbooks that you maintain a less than fifty-percent first-time success rate with holographic locks and are needlessly reckless with your own life, despite the existence of non-fatal alternatives,” Delta said, which was basically as mushy a reunion as was possible from him.  

“Aw, Dee, didn’t know you still cared,” York said, voice a little too loud, too cheery.

With surprising tact, Epsilon waved his hands.  “Come on guys, you’re making it weird.  We can play at happy families later.  Right now, we gotta appreciate my- alright, alright, _our_ genius and unload all of our hard work on these meat sacks.”

“Thank you for that,”Carolina said once the other two projections had disappeared.  “ _As I was saying_ , Epsilon and company spent the past few weeks digging through these files.  And it finally paid off.”  She tapped a few buttons on the desk console and a series of windows popped up on the large flat screen mounted at one end of the war room. “Ostensibly, it was just junk code, but after a lengthy decryption, we’ve identified it as correspondence logs.  Now, originator and recipients were blinded, but we’ve found evidence of call signs in some of the deep code - FFA500 and 008000.”

Wash glanced up.  “Those are HTML color codes.  Orange and Green.”

“Fucking A,” Tucker groaned.  “Felix and Locus.”

“Yes.  Maybe. Even decrypted, it’s heavily coded.  From what we’ve been able to understand, it’s coordinates and time tables.  We think they were operating via a series of dead drops to trade information and, possibly, provisions.  If they’ve been abandoned like some of the other Charon installations since the communication towers went live, it could contain useful information.  This would be things they weren’t even willing to trust to encrypted channels, something that might require a hard-copy exchange only.”

“Or,” Kimball said, speaking up for the first time, “It’s a trap.”  It sounded like it wasn’t the first time she’d put the idea forward.

“ _Or,_ it contains vital information,” Carolina said.  She snapped a look at Kimball and then returned her attention to the screen, her back stiff.  So this fight had been going on for a while, Wash thought.  

“So, what’ve we got?” York said, squinting at the display.  “Anything look promising?” 

Kimball sighed.  “It seems the most recent dead-drop was in a series of caves about twenty-five klicks north-west of here.  Old limestone caverns, twisting and twining little warrens that shift around so much and are so unstable they’re generally avoided.  Unfortunately, the coordinates only take us to the mouth of the cave.  We’d have to form at least three teams to explore the feasible locations inside.  And, even without the dangers of operating in these _notoriously dangerous caves_ ,” Kimball said, glancing at Carolina, “We have no idea what kind of countermeasures might be awaiting us.  We know that Felix did like nasty surprises.” 

“We can have a preliminary team in place by this afternoon,” Carolina said.  “They can set up a base of operations near the entrance and start some scans that would at least give us basic information about the caves’ layout.  They’d be ready for specialized teams by tomorrow morning.”

“Specialized teams?” Tucker said. “I’m guessing that’s us?”

“I won’t order you to do this,” Kimball said. “It’s a long shot that it’s anything of value, and as I mentioned, even without any traps from Charon, it would not necessarily be a safe excursion.  That said...”  She shook her head.  “Carolina has convinced me that any edge we can gain on these bastards is necessary.  So this is a volunteer mission only.  Three small teams, in and out as quickly and safely as we can do it.”

“Count me the fuck in,” Tucker said, almost before she’d finished speaking.  “Anything to ruin those assholes’ little tree fort is a good time in my books.” 

York looked a little annoyed that Tucker got there first.  He said, “Sure, sounds like fun, Lina.  This isn’t even the top ten of dangerous and fucked up shit we’ve done for dubious reasons.”

Carolina looked at North, who rolled his eyes.  “You know I’m going if he’s going.  Somebody’s got to try and keep that ‘needlessly reckless’ streak in check.”

“That’s a losing battle,” Wash murmured, and then looked surprised when the room’s attention settled on him.  He felt a flush curling up the back of his neck.  He cleared his throat, nodded.  “You got it, boss.  Almost sounds like fun.”

“Well now you’ve said that, we’re totally fucked,” Kimball said.  “Alright, take it easy today, guys.  You’re rolling out of here at 0600 tomorrow morning.  The nearest drop site is an hour hike in through rough terrain.  Get some rest.  You’ll need it.”

 

\----

 

They managed to disperse from the room without York and Tucker throwing punches or measuring their dicks, which was as close to civil as Wash could hope for.  To his surprise, Tucker stalked away almost immediately, forcing Wash to jog a few steps to catch up.  

“Hey,” Wash said, falling into step beside him.  “Not even one exploring holes joke?  You losing your touch?”

Tucker turned a glare on him and shrugged abruptly.  “Guess so.”

Wash stopped.  “Okay, what the fuck is up with you?  You’ve been in a snit all morning.  Did Caboose give your sheets the mustard treatment again?”

“No, my sheets are fucking fine,” Tucker snapped.  “Unlike yours, probably,” he added, glaring over Wash’s shoulder to where North and York were talking quietly down the hall.  “You could probably snap yours in half by this point.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Wash said, his voice going up an octave or two.

“Yeah, okay, _whatever_ , I’m not a fucking moron.  I just didn’t think _you_ were either, Wash.”

“Tucker-”

“Just go have fun with your fuck-lancers, okay?  I’ve got shit to do.”  And with that, Tucker turned on his heel, marching down the hallway.  Through some effort, Wash forced himself not to call out to him.  

“Wash?” North called warily, “You, uh, wanna, grab a cup of coffee or something?”

Wash turned around and found York and North watching him with identical concerned frowns, not unlike the time Wash had refused to safeword and ended up bleeding from where the restraints had dug in too far.  He felt himself flush brilliantly and ducked his head.  God _dammit_ , they made him feel like he was twenty-three again, and not in any of the fun ways.  

“No,” he bit out, turning away.  “No, I gotta -”  He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and set off down the hallway Tucker hadn’t left by, not thinking of where he was going beyond _away._  Things had gone to shit so quickly it made his head spin - there was a knot of anxiety fixed low in his stomach that throbbed when he remembered the scorn on Tucker’s face.  But, no matter.  Wash took a breath in through his nose and out through his mouth.  Tucker’s attitude was his own business.  It wasn’t like Wash was planning on getting involved.  

They had a mission tomorrow; that was all he had to worry about.

\-----

 “They’re tragic,” Kimball sighed, watching the fallout on the CCTV displays on the war room’s screens.  “And this feels kind of bad.  Invasion of privacy and bad reality TV, all in one hack.”

Lina snorted.  “I wish I could say this was new behavior, but none of them were any better during the Project.”  She was sitting on the table, shaking her head as Wash almost full-out ran down the hall.  “I don’t know what crawled up Tucker’s ass and died, but he better get himself sorted out by tomorrow.  He needs to keep his head in the game.”

“I’m not sure if he and York should deck it out or fuck,” Kimball said speculatively, making Carolina wince.  

“Oh my god, they’d never stop bitching at each other long enough to get off.  I have no idea how North deals with him.”

“Hey, yeah, okay,” Epsilon said, dragging holographic hands down over his face.  “Can we not?  Can we not talk about this please?  I have actually been in all four of their brains, and if I could just not ever think about what the fuck they’re doing to each other on off hours, I would literally die happy.”

 “If it makes you feel any better,” Carolina said, her voice teasing, “it looks like only two of them are getting up to anything on off hours.” 

“That _does not_ make me feel better.”

“Well, you know us meat sacks and our base needs,” Kimball said, laughing.  She looked over at Carolina and reached out to run her fingers over her knuckles.  “You’ll be careful tomorrow.”

Lina grinned, swatting her free hand through Epsilon’s projection when he made gagging noises.  “I always am.  It’s those morons that screw everything up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm alive! Who wants to talk to me about my small holographic sons?
> 
> So, this and the next part were supposed to be all one chapter, but there's a sudden tone shift and some uncomfortable sex stuff in the next bit, so (following the advice of my dearest darling beta,[torevolution](http://www.to-revolution.tumblr.com), who read this despite not being in fandom and I tried to fill her in with caps locks and a lot of youtube videos) I decided to split it up. No non-con, but it might not be everyone's thing. To get the low-down, check out the tags at the end of the next chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t really know how to tag this, so skip to the end notes if you’re thinking that some uncomfortable sex stuff might not be your thing

That night, Wash dreamed.

It was less common these days. For a while, shutting his eyes had just been an excuse for the present day blood and war and heartache to be replaced by a cinematic retelling of the past. Variations on a goddamn theme. He had been waking up exhausted, mouth grimy and sour - more than once he’d found himself dry heaving in the bathroom. But it was a hell he’d grown used to, and it probably could have gone on like that forever if Grey and Church hadn’t intervened: first Grey with sleeping pills and then Church with a brief neural interface that “Just, like, turned the fucking nightmare knob down off eleven, you psycho. Your brain’s half fucking machine at this point, you should have told me sooner.”

Anyway, the dreams were rarer now, and the sleeping pills tended to make them bizarre rather than terrifying, filled with shit he only found unsettling after he woke up.

But tonight was different - not scary, but painful in the aching way of old wounds.

Wash was in his old bunk on the MOI, but it was distorted in the way of dreams. The room was endlessly huge and the cot itself deeper and softer than it had ever been in real life. He was naked, sitting across North’s lap on the edge of the bed, hands tied behind his back with zip ties, and he was achingly, dizzyingly hard. 

Some conscious part of Wash remembered this - it was the first time he’d gone beyond roughhousing and making out with either York or North, and the thrill of it, that hot blade of intimacy, had hung around his dreams for years afterwards. He still blushed when he had to cuff someone.

Beneath him, North was fully dressed, his hand wrapped around Wash’s dick almost as an afterthought. Behind him on the bed, sprawled out on the sheets, York was also mostly dressed, but his pants sagged open and he was fisting his own cock in rhythm with the slow, rolling strokes of North’s hand. 

“You’re doing great,” North rumbled, using his free hand to pull Wash down into a searing kiss, broad fingers sliding through Wash’s cropped hair. “You look so good, Wash. Doesn’t he, York?”

“Pretty as a picture,” York said, breath only slightly ragged. Wash could see the precome gathering on the head of his dick and surprised himself by wondering what it tasted like. “Maybe in a while I can get out my rope, really dress him up.”

Wash’s hips stuttered and he made a desperate noise, trying to grind down into North’s lap. North was hard; Wash could feel the hot weight of it through his clothes, and a shocked, searing burst of excitement went through him. He’d seen them both naked before - communal showers, triage in medbay- but he’d never really seen them naked and turned on, naked and breathing heavily because they couldn’t keep their hands off him. North was so flushed it was creeping down his neck, probably all the way down his chest. 

Slowly, through the warm pink fog of arousal, North sped up, twisting his fist up and down Wash’s shaft, smearing his thumb over the head and pressing it to the slit until Wash sobbed. But - but wait. There was something he was supposed to be telling them, wasn’t there? There was. There was something he had to get out, to let them know -

The change was sudden, as if an orchestra had abruptly descended into atonal disarray, clashing chords and mismatched keys. Panic swept over him, surging past the arousal as effectively as a cold shower. This wasn’t right - this wasn’t how it went at all. In real life, he’d ended up on all fours, York draped over his back and fucking into him while Wash sucked off North, listening to their soft, gasped words of encouragement and praise. 

Instead, fear choked him silent, and he realized he could no longer open his eyes. He couldn’t remember the safe word, he couldn’t remember what he needed to tell them - it was important, so fucking important, they’d die without knowing that he-

Finally, he was able to see again, but the scene had changed; still in his bedroom, but the emergency lights and klaxons on the MOI were blaring and he knew that something awful had happened, that there was fighting not too far away. Wash was still bound in North’s lap, but now both North and York were wearing power armor, visors down, expressionless. As he watched, something thick and red began seeping out of all the joins of the metal, oozing from the elbows and neck, gurgling out of their visors. Blood, Wash thought in horror, and tried to scramble away, falling to the floor.

On the ground, still naked and restrained, Wash watched as North and York stood, now tacky with blood. They advanced on him, arms outstretched. Wash was aware they were trying to say something, but it was muffled through their helmets - Wash wasn’t in armor. He couldn’t hear them.

“I don’t - I can’t hear you,” he said, trying his best to crawl backwards, voice shaking and choked with tears. Their gauntleted hands grew closer. Wash wanted to scream. “I’m sorry - North, York, I’m so sorry - I can’t understand! I’M SORRY.”

And the scene changed again.

The fear vanished as abruptly as it had come on, and now he was by the stream they’d bathed in while shipwrecked. He remembered this day, too, sitting on the bank and watching Tucker fuck around in the water, dunking Caboose, making Simmons screech when he walked out of the water, bare assed naked and unashamed, taking his sweet fucking time to get back into his clothes. 

It had been miserably hot, the air muggy and cloying even though Wash was just sitting on the bank, watching with a faint smile, his helmet tugged off and lying in the grass beside him.  
Looking at Tucker laughing, shaking his dreads to flick off excess water, naked and silhouetted by the setting sun - it wasn’t the first time he’d felt something old and half-broken and familiar twist in his gut, but it was by far the sharpest. Tucker had dimples above his ass and a birthmark on the inside of his right thigh. Wash had let himself think about pressing his fingers there, what the muscle Tucker had put on would feel like against his skin.

And as if it was a natural transition, Wash was suddenly on his knees. This time, it was him in his power armor, sans helmet. Tucker was standing naked and hard above him, one hand fisted in Wash’s hair, guiding Wash’s head back and forth on his dick, thrusting lazily into his mouth. The rest of the Reds and Blues were still puttering around the periphery of the camp, oblivious or just not caring.

Weird, weird, weird, his conscious brain supplied, but at least they weren’t playing the peanut gallery.

Wash’s jaw was aching, spit and drool and precome running down his chin - it felt like he’d been at it for hours. Tucker was impossibly hard, twitching on his tongue, rocking into the back of his throat until Wash’s eyes watered and he almost gagged. Perfect, had it not been for the throbbing current of unease wound around his sternum, choking him more effectively than Tucker’s cock hitting the back of his throat.

“C’mon,” Tucker hissed between his teeth, slamming hard into Wash’s mouth, “Fucking do it, David. Get me off. What is the fuckin’ matter with you?” Tucker twisted his hips forward, gagging Wash until he was lightheaded with it. Wash was trying, god help him he was, but he just couldn’t seem to get there; he was doing everything he knew, all that he had left, and he still couldn’t get to that last...

“Goddamit David. What the fuck is the matter with you?”Tucker growled. Wash wished he knew. It just wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough, and Tucker knew it, how could he not? Strong hands dug into his hair, holding him ruthlessly in place, and Tucker started fucking into his mouth in earnest, punctuating every few words with a ruthless thrust. “Can’t you just,” thrust, “get me,” thrust, “the fuck,” thrust “off.”

\---

Wash’s eyes slammed open. 

He was in his bunk in the base, windowless and midnight dark. A digit readout on his bedside table read 04:28 in harsh red letters. He was ridiculously hard, covered in a cold sweat, blankets tangled around his ankles. It took a long few moments of conscious effort to wrestle his breathing back under control.

Fuck, he thought, and then said it aloud for good measure. He stared down at himself, flushed with sex and shame, and slammed his head back against the pillows. It had been years since he’d had a dream like that, and the last time it hadn’t been so replete with his subconscious flair for the dramatic and the layers of fucked-up-edness that only came with Freelance training. His eyes were suspiciously wet, but for once he was willing to give himself a pass and shrug it off as sweat. 

Four-thirty AM. They were scheduled for departure at 0600. He wasn’t going to get back to bed, that much he knew; aside from the rest of it, the bed was covered in cold sweat, damp and uncomfortable. He stared at the ceiling, cupping his dick through his pajama bottoms, weighing the pros and cons of a nice cold shower.

Fuck it, he decided finally, sliding his hand down under his briefs, curling his fist around his dick and hissing through his teeth. Grey had been on him to do more nice things for himself, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wash has a series of sex dreams that morph into nightmares; nothing is coerced, but it’s distinctly uncomfortable, mostly because of abrupt tone shits and/or bizarre dream shit. At one point he can’t remember a safeword. Some humiliation/self loathing projected onto Tucker. The sex is a bit rough/kinky, but for the most part it’s nothing that’s outside Wash’s wheelhouse.
> 
> I'm over at @allthingsmust fall on the tumbles - come dork out over these nerds with me.


End file.
